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ii 


JAPHET, 

IBT 

SEARCH OF A FATHER. 


Br THE AUTHOB OP > 


PETER simple/’ JACOB FAITHFUL,” “ PASHA 


OP MANY TALES,” KING'S OWN 

&c. &c. &:c. 







PHILADELPHIA : 

E. L. CAREY AND A. HART. 

BALTIMORE — CAREY, HART, AND CO. 


1835 


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Coiv. of N<»iih Garoliaa 
JAN 3 1 1934 




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J APHE T, 

IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 


Ms ♦ 




Those who may be pleased to honour these pages with 
a perusal, will not be detained with a long history of my 
birth, parentage, and education. The very title implies 
that at this period of my memoirs I was ignorant of the 
two first ; and it will be necessary for the due develop- 
ment of my narrative, that I allow you to remain in the 
same state of bliss : for in the perusal of a novel, as well 
as in the pilgrimage of life, ignorance of the future may 
truly be considered as the greatest source of happiness. 
The little that was known at this time I will however 
narrate as concisely, and as correctly, as I am able. It 

was on the night 1 really forget the date, and must 

rise from my chair, look for a key, open a closet, and 
then open an iron safe to hunt over a pile of papers-^it 
will detain you too long — it will be sufficient to say it was 

on a night but whether the night was dark or moonlit, 

or rainy or foggy, or cloudy or fine, or starlight, I really 
cannot tell ; but it is of no very great consequence. 

Well, it was on a night about the hour there again I’m 

puzzled, it might have been ten, or eleven, or twelve, or 
between any of these hours ; nay, it might have been past 
midnight, and far advancing to the morning, for what I 
know to the contrary. The reader must excuse an infant 

of there again I am at a nonplus ; but we will assume 

of some days old — if, when wrapped up in flannel and in 
a covered basket, and, moreover, fast asleep at the time, 

* he does not exactly observe the state of the weather, and 
the time by the church clock. I never before was aware 
of the great importance of dates in telling a story ; but it 
is now too late to recover these facts, which- have been 
B 13 


14 . JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

swept away into oblivion by the broad wing of time. I 
must therefore just tell the little I do know, trusting to the 
reader’s good nature, and to blanks. It is as follows : — 

that at the hour of the night the state of the 

weather being also 1, an infant of a certain age 

Avas suspended by some body or somebodies at the 

knocker of the Foundling Hospital. Having made me 
fast, the said somebody or somebodies rang a peal upon 
the bell, which made the old porter start up in so great a 
hurry, that with the back of his hand he hit his better 
half a blow on the nose, occasioning a great suffusion of 
blood from that organ, and a still greater pouring forth of 
invectives from the organ immediately below it. 

All this having been effected by the said peal on the 
bell, the' said somebody or somebodies did incontinently 
take to their heels, and disappear long before the old por- 
ter could pull his legs through his nether garments and 
obey the rude summons. At last the old man swang open 
the gate, and the basket swang across his nose ; he went 
in again for a knife, and cut me down, for it was cruel to 
hang a baby of a few days old ; carried* me into the lodge, 
lighted a candle, and opened the basket. Thus did I 
metaphorically first come to light. 

When he opened the basket I opened my eyes, and al- 
though I did not observe it, the old Avoman was standing 
at the table in a very light attire, sponging her nose over 
a basin. 

“ Verily, a pretty babe, Avith black eyes !” exclaimed 
the old man in a tremulous voice. 

“Black eyes, indeed,” muttered the old woman. “I 
shall have tAvo to-morroAV.” 

“ Beautiful black eyes indeed 1” continued the old man. 

' “ Terrible black eyes, for sartain,” continued the old 

Avoman as she sponged away. 

“ Poor thing, it must be cold,” murmured the old porter. 

“ Warrant I catch my death a-cold,” muttered the Avife. 

“ But, dear me, here is a paper !” exclaimed the old 
man. 

“ Vinegar and brown paper,” echoed the old woman. 

“Addressed to the governors of the hospital,” continued 
the porter. 

“ Apply to the dispenser of the hospital,” continued the 
wife. 


or A FATHER. 


15 


** And sealed,” said he. 

“ Get it healed,” said she. 

“ The linen is good ; it must be the child of no poor 
people. Who knows ?” soliloquized the old man. 

“ My poor nose !” exclaimed the old woman. 

“ I must take it to the nurse’s, and the letter I will give 
to-morrow,” said the old porter, winding up his portion 
of this double soliloquy, and tottering away with the bas- 
ket and your humble servant across the courtyard. 

“ There, it will do now,” said the old wife, wiping her 
face on a towel, and regaining her bed, in which she was 
soon joined by her husband, and they finished their nap 
without any further interruption during that night. 

The next morning I was reported and examined, and 
the letter addressed to the governors was opened and read. 
It was laconic, but still, as most things laconic are, very 
much to the point. 

“ This child was born in wedlock — he is to be named 
Japhet. When circumstances permit, he will be re- 
claimed.” 

But there was a postscript by Abraham Newland, Esq., 
promising to pay the bearer, on demand, the sum of fifty 
pounds. In plainer terms, there was a bank-note to that 
amount enclosed in the letter. As, in general, the parties 
who suspend children in baskets have long before sus- 
pended cash payments, or, at all events, forget to suspend 
them on the baskets, my arrival created no little noise, to 
which I added my ^are, until I obtained a share of the 
breast of a young woman, who, like Charity, suckled two 
or three babies at one time. 

We have preparatory schools all over the kingdom ; for 
young gentlemen, from three to five years of age, under 
ladies, and from four to seven, under either, or both sexes, 
as it may happen ; but the most preparatory of all prepa- 
ratory schools, is certainly the Foundling Hospital, which 
takes in its pupils, if they are sent, from one to three days 
old, or even hours, if the parents are in such extreme 
anxiety about their education. Here it conihrences with 
their weaning, when they are instructed in the mystery 
of devouring pap ; next they are taught to walk — and as 
soon as they can walk — to sit still ; to talk — and as 
soon as they can talk — to hold their tongues ; thus are 
they instructed and passed on from one part of the estab- 


16 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

lishment to another, until they finally are passed out of its 
gates, to get on in the world, with the advantages of some 
education, and the still further advantage of having no 
father or mother to provide for, or relations to pester them 
with their necessities. It was so with me : I arrived at 
the age of fourteen, and notwithstanding the promise con- 
tained in the letter, it appeared that circumstances did not 
permit of my being reclaimed. But I had a great advan- 
tage over the other inmates ,of the hospital ; the fifty 
pounds sent with me was not added to the funds of the 
establishment, but generously employed for my benefit by 
the governors, who were pleased with my conduct, and 
thought highly of my abilities. Instead of being bound 
’prentice to a cordwainer, or some other mechanic ; by 
the influence of the governors, added to the fifty pounds 
and interest, as a premium, I was taken by an apothecary, 
who engaged to bring me up to the profession. And now, 
that I am out of the Foundling, we must not travel quite 
so fast. 

The practitioner who thus took me by the hand was a 
Mr. Phineas Cophagus, whose shop was most conve- 
niently situated for business, one side of the shop looking 
upon Smithfield Market, the other presenting a surface of 
glass to the principal street leading out of the same mar- 
ket. It was a corner house, but not in a corner. On 
each side of the shop were two gin establishments, and 
next to them were two public-houses and two eating- 
houses, frequented by graziers, butchers, and drovers. 
Did the men' drink so much as to quarrel in their cups, 
who was so handy to plaster up the broken heads as Mr.. 
Cophagus ? Did a fat grazier eat himself into an apo- 
plexy, how very convenient was the ready lancet of Mr. 
Cophagus. Did a bull gore a man, Mr. Cophagus ap- 
peared with his diachylon and lint. Did an ox frighten a 
lady, it was in the back parlours of Mr. Cophagus that she 
was recovered from her syncope. Market days were a 
sure market to my master ; and if an overdriven beast 
knocked down others, it only helped to set him on 
his legs. Our windows suffered occasionally; but 
whether it were broken heads, or broken limbs, or broken 
windows, they were well paid for. Every one suffered 
but Mr. Phineas Cophagus, who never suffered a patient 
to escape him. The shop had the usual allowance of 


OF A FATHER. 


17 

green, yellow, and blue bottles ; and in hot weather,^from 
our vicinity, we were visited by no small proportion of 
blue-bottle flies. We had a white horse in one window, 
and a brown horse in the other, to announce to the drovers 
that we supplied horse-medicine. And we had all the 
patent medicines in the known world, even to the “ all- 
sufficient medicine for mankind” of Mr. Enouy ; having 
which, I wondered, on my first arrival, why we troubled 
ourselves about any others. The shop was large, and at 
the back part there was a most capacious iron mortar, with 
a pestle to correspond. The first floor was tenanted by 
Mr. Cophagus, who was a bachelor, the second floor was 
let ; the others were appropriated to the housekeeper, and 
to those who formed the establishment. In this well- 
situated tenement, Mr. Cophagus got on swimmingly. I 
will therefore, for the present, sink the shop, that my mas- 
ter may rise in the estimation of the reader, when I de- 
scribe his person and his qualifications. 

Mr. Phineas Cophagus might have been about forty-five 
years of age when I first had the honour of an introduction 
to him in the receiving room of the Foundling Hospital. 
He was of the middle height, his face was thin, his nose 
very much hooked, his eyes small and peering, with a 
good-humoured twinkle in them, his mouth large, and 
drawn down at one corner. He was stout in his body, 
and carried a considerable protuberance before him, which 
he was in the habit of patting with his left hand very com- 
placently ; but although stout in his body, his legs '^ere 
mere spindles, so that, in his appearance, he reminded 
you of some bird of the crane genus. Indeed, I may say, 
that his whole figure gave you just such an appearance as 
an orange might do, had it taken to itself a couple of 
pieces of tobacco pipes as veliicles of locomotion. He 
was dressed in a black coat and waistcoat,- white cravat 
and high collar to his shirt, blue cotton net pantaloons and 
Hessian boots, both fitting so tight, that it appeared as if 
he was proud of his spindle shanks. His hat was broad- 
brimmed and low, and carried a stout black cane with a 
gold top in his right hand, almost always raising the gold 
top to his nose when he spoke, just as we see doctors re- 
presented at a consultation in the caricature prints. But 
if his figure was strange, his language and manners were 
still more so. He spoke, as some birds fly, in jerks, in- 

B 2 


18 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

termixing his words, for he never completed a whole sen- 
tence, with um — nm — and ending it with “ leav- 

ing his- hearers to supply the context from the heads of 
his discourse. Almost always in motion, he generally 
changed his position as soon as he had finished speaking, 
walking to any other part of the room, with his cane to his 
nose, and his head cocked on one side, with a self-suffi- 
cient tiptoe gait. When I was ushered into his presence, 
he was standing with two of the governors. “ This is the 
lad,” said one of them ; “ his name is Japhet.'^ 

“Japhet,” replied Mr. Cophagus ; “ um, scriptural — 
Shem, Ham, um — and so on. — Boy reads ?” 

“ Very well, and writes a very good hand. He is a 
very good boy, Mr. Cophagus.” 

“ Read — write — spell — good, and so on. Bring him 
up — rudiments — spatula — writes labels — um — M. D. one 
of these days — make a man of him — gmd so on,” said this 
strange personage, walking round and round me with his 
cane to his nose, and scrutinizing my person with his 
twinkling eyes. I was dismissed after this examination 
and approval, and the next day, dressed in a plain suit of 
clothes, was delivered by the porter at the shop of Mr. 
Phineas Cophagus, who was not at home when I arrived. 
A tall, fresh-coloured, but hectic-looking young man, stood 
behind the counter, making up prescriptions ; and a dirty 
lad, about thirteen years old, was standing near with his 
basket, to deliver the medicines to the several addresses, 
as soon as they were ready. The young man behind the 
counter,' whose name was Brookes, was within eighteen 
months of serving his time, when his friends intended to 
establish him on his own account, and this was the reason 
which induced Mr. Cophagus to take me, that I might 
learn tlie business, and supply his place when he left. 
Mr. Brookes was a very quiet, amiable person, kind to 
me and the other boy who carried out the medicines, and 
who had been taken by Mr. Cophagus for his food and 
raiment. The porter told Mr. Brookes who I was, and 
left me. “ Do you think that you will like to be an apo- 
thecary ?” said Mr.-Brookes to me, with a benevolent smile. 

“ Yes ; I do not see why I would not,” replied I. 

“ Stop a moment,” said the lad who was waiting with 
the basket, looking archly at me, “ you hav’n’t got through 
your rudimans yet.” 


or A FATHER. 


19 


“ Hold your tongue, Timothy,” said Mr. Brookes. 

“ That you are not very fond of the rudiments, as Mr. 
Cophagus calls them, is very clear. Now walk off as fast . 
as you can with these medicines, sir — 14, Spring-street; 
16, Cleaver-street, as before ; and then to John-street 55, 
Mrs. Smith’s. Do you understand ?” 

“To be sure I do — can’t I read ? I reads all the direc- 
tions, and all your Latin stuff into the bargain — all your 
summen dusses, horez, diez, cockly hairy. I mean to set 
up for myself one of these days.” 

“ I’ll knock you down one of these days, Mr. Timothy, 
if you stay so long as you do, looking at the print shops ; 
that you may depend upon.” 

“ I keep up all my learning that way,” replied Timothy, 
walking off with his load, turning his head round and 
laughing at me, as he quitted the shop. Mr. Brookes 
smiled, but said nothing. 

As Timothy Avent out, in came Mr. Cophagus. “ Heh ! 
Japhet. I see,” said he, putting up his cane, “ nothing to 
do — bad — must work — um— -and so on. Mr. Brookes — 
boy learn rudiments — good — and so on.” Hereupon Mr. 
Cophagus took his cane from his nose, pointed to the 
large iron mortar, and then Avalked away into the back 
parlour. Mr. Brookes understood his master, if I did not. 
He wiped out the mortar, threw in some drugs, and, show- 
ing me how to use the pestle, left me to my work. In 
half an hour I discovered why it was that Timothy had 
'such an objection to what Mr. Cophagus facetiously 
termed the rudiments of the profession. It was dreadful 
hard work for a boy ; the perspiration ran down me in 
streams, and I could hardly lift my arms. When Mr. 
Cophagus passed through the shop, and looked at me, as^I 
continued to thump away with the heavy iron pestle, 
“ Good,”— -said he, “ by-and-by — M.D. — and so on.” 
I thought it was a very rough road to such preferment, 
and I stopped to take a little breath. “By-the-by — Ja- 
phet — Christian name — and so on — sirname — heh!” 

“ Mr. Cophagus wishes to know your other name,” 
said Mr. Brookes, interpreting. 

I have omitted to acquaint the reader that sirnames, as 
well as Christian names, are always given to the children 
at the Foundling, and in consequence of the bank-note 
found in my basket, I had been named after the celebrated 


20 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

personage whose signature it bore. “ Newland is my 
other name, sir,” replied I. 

“Newland — heh! — very good name — everybody likes 
to see that name — and have plenty of them in his pockets 
too — um — very comfortable — and so on,” replied Mr. Co- 
phagus, leaving the shop. 

I resumed my thumping occupation, when Timothy 
returned with his empty basket. He laughed when he 
saw me at work. “ Well, how do you like the rudi- 
mans ? — and so on — heh !” said he, mimicking Mr. Co- 
phagus. 

“ Not overmuch,” replied I, wiping my face. 

That was my job before you came. I have been more 
than a year, and never have got out of those rudimans yet, 
and I suppose I never shall.” 

Mr. Brookes, perceiving that I was tired, desired me to 
leave off, an order which I gladly obeyed, and I took my 
seat in a corner of the shop. 

“ There,” said Timothy, laying down his basket ; “ no 
more work for me, hanty prandium, is there, Mr. 
Brookes ?” 

“ No, Tim ; but post prandium^ you’ll post off again.” 

Dinner being ready, and Mr. Cophagus having returned, 
he and Mr. Brookes went into the back parlour, leaving 
Timothy and me in the shop to announce customers. 
And I shall take this opportunity of introducing Mr. Ti- 
mothy more particularly, as he will play a very conspi- 
cuous part in this narrative. 1’imothy was short in stature 
for his age, but very strongly built. He had an oval face, 
with a very dark complexion, gray eyes flashing from 
under their long eyelashes, and eyebrows nearly meeting 
' each other. He was marked with the small-pox, not so 
much as to disfigure him, but still it was very perceptible 
when near to him. His countenance was always lighted 
up with merriment ; there was such a happy, devil-may- 
care expression in his face, that you liked him the first 
minute that you were in his company, and I was intimate 
with him immediately. 

“ I say, Japhet,” said he, “ where did you come from?” 

“ The Foundling,” replied I. 

“ Then you have no friends or relations ?” 

“ If I have, I do not know where to find them,” replied 
I, very gravely. 


OF A FATHER 


21 

“Pooh ! don’t be grave upon it. I hav’n’t any either. 
I was brought up by the parish, in the workhouse. I was 
found at the door of a gentleman’s house, who sent me to 
the overseers — I was about a year old then. They call 
me a foundling, but I don’t care what they call me, so 
long as they don’t call me too late for dinner. Father and 
mother, whoever they were, when they run away from 
me, didn’t run away with my appetite. I wonder how 
long master means to play with his knife and fork. As 
for Mr. Brookes, what he eats wouldn’t physic a snipe. 
What is your other name, Japhet ?” 

“ Newland.” 

“ Newland — now you shall have mine in exchange : 
Timothy Oldmixon at your service. They christened me 
after the workhouse pump, which had ‘ Timothy Old- 
mixon fecit’ on it ; and the overseers thought it as good a 
name to give me as any other ; so I was christened after 
the pump-maker with some of the pump water. As soon 
as I was big enough, they employed me to pump all the 
water for the use of the workhouse. I worked at my 
papa, as I called the pump, all day long. Few sons 
worked their father more, or disliked him so much; and 
now, Japhet, you see, from habit, Fm pumping you.” 

“You’ll soon pump dry, then, for Fve very little to 
tell you,” replied I ; “ but tell me, what sort of a person 
is our master ?” 

“ He’s just what you see him, never alters, hardly ever 
out of humour, and when he is, he is just as odd as ever. 
He very often threatens me, but I have never had a blow 
yet, although Mr. Brookes has complained once or twice.” 

“ But surely Mr. Brookes is not cross ?” 

“ No, he is a very good gentleman ; but sometimes I 
carry on my rigs a little too far, I must say that. For as 
Mr. Brookes says, people may die for want of the medi- 
cines, because I put down my basket to play. It’s very 
true ; but I can’t give up ‘ peg in the ring’ on that account. 
But then I only get a box of the ear from Mr. Brookes, 
and that goes for nothing Mr. Cophagus shakes his 
stick, and says, ‘ Bad boy — big stick — um — won’t forget-— 
next time — and so on,’” continued Timothy, laughing ; 
“ and it is so on, to the end of the chapter.” 

By this ‘ time Mr. Cophagus and his assistant had 
finished their dinner, and came into the shop. The former 


22 


, JAPHET, m SEARCH 

looked at me, put his stick to his nose, “ Little boys — al- 
ways hungry — um — like good dinner — roast beef — York- 
shire pudding — and so on,” and he pointed with the stick 
to the back parlour. Timothy and I understood him very 
well this time : we went into the parlour, when the house- 
keeper sat down with us and helped us. She was a ter- 
rible cross, little old woman, but as honest as she was 
cross, which is all that I shall say in her favour. Timo- 
thy was no favourite, because he had such a good ap- 
petite ; and it appeared that I was not very likely to stand 
well in her good opinion, for I also ate a good deal, and 
every extra mouthful I took I sank in her estimation, till 
I was nearly at the zero where Timothy had long been for 
the same offence ; but Mr. Cophagus would not allow her 
to stint him, saying, “ Little boys must eat — or won’t 
grow — and so on.” 

I soon found out that we were not only well fed, but in 
every other point well treated, and I was very comfortable 
and happy. Mr. Brookes instructed me in the art of 
labelling and tying up, and in a very short time I was very 
expert ; and as Timothy predicted, the rudiments were 
once more handed over to him. Mr. Cophagus supplied 
me with good clothes, but never gave me any pocket 
money, and Timothy and I often lamented that we Iiad not 
even a halfpenny to spend. 

Before I had been many months in the shop, Mr. 
Brookes was able to leave when any exigence required 
his immediate attendance. I made up the pills, but he 
weighed out the quantities in the prescriptions ; if, there- 
fore, any one came in for medicines, I desired them to 
wait the return of Mr. Brookes, who would be in very 
soon. One day when Mr. Brookes was out, and I was 
sitting behind the counter, Timothy sitting on it, and 
swinging his legs to and fro, both lamenting that we had 
no pocket money, Timothy said, “ Japhet, I’ve been 
puzzling my brains how we can get some money, and I’ve 
hit it at last ; let you and I turn doctors ; we won’t send 
all the people away who come when Mr. Brookes is out, 
but we’ll physic them ourselves.” 

I jumped at the idea, and he had hardly proposed it, 
when an old woman came in, and addressing Timothy, 
said, “That she wanted something for her poor grand- 
child’s sore throat.” 


OF A FATHER. 


23 


“I don’t mix up the medicines, ma’am,” replied Timo- 
thy ; “ you must apply to that gentleman, Mr. Newland, 
who is behind the counter — he understands what is good 
for everybody’s complaints.” 

“ Bless his handsome face — and so young too ! Why 
be you a doctor, sir ?” 

“ I should hope so,” replied I ; “ what is it you re- 
quire — a lotion, or an embrocation ?” 

“ I don’t understand those hard words, but I want some 
doctor’s stuff.” 

“ Very well, my good woman ; I know what is pro- 
per,” replied’ I, assuming an important air. “ Here, 
Timothy, wash out this vial very clean.” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Timothy, very respectfully. 

I took one of the measures, and putting in a little green, 
a little blue, and a little white liquid from the medicine 
bottles generally used by Mr. Brookes, filled it *up with 
water, poured the mixture into the vial, corked, and 
labelled it, haustus statim siimendus, and handed it over 
the counter to the old woman. 

“ Is the poor child to take it, or is it to rub outside ?” 
inquired the old woman. 

“ The directions are on the label ; — but you don’t read 
Latin ?” 

“ Deary me, no ! Latin ! and do you understand Latin ? 
what a nice clever boy !” 

“ I should not be a good doctor if I did not,” replied I. 
On second thoughts I considered it advisable and safer 
that the application should be external, so I translated the 
label to her — “ Haustus^ rub it in — statim, on the throat — 
sumendus, with the palm of the hand.” 

“ Deary me ! and does it mean all that ? How much 
have I to pay, sir ?” 

“ Embrocation is a very dear medicine, my good wo- 
man ; it ought to be eighteen-pence, but as you are a poor 
woman, I shall only charge you nine-pence.” 

“ I’m sure I thank you kindly, sir,” replied the old 
woman, putting down the money, and wishing me a good 
morning, as she left the shop. 

“Bravo!” cried Timothy, rubbing his hands; “it’s 
halves, Japhet, is.it not?” 

“Yes,” replied 1; “but first we must be honest, and 


24 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

not cheat Mr. Cophagus ; the vial is sold, you know, for 
one penny, and 1 suppose the stuff I have taken is not 
worth a penny more. Now, if we put aside two-pence 
for Mr. Cophagus, we don’t cheat him, or steal his pro- 
perty ; the other seven-pence is of course ours — being the 
‘profits of the profession.^’ 

“But how shall we account for receiving the two- 
pence ?” said Timothy. 

“Selling two vials instead of one; they are never 
reckoned, you know.” 

“ That will do capitally,” cried Timothy ; “ and now 
for halves.” But this could not be managed until Timo- 
thy had run out and changed the sixpence ; we then each 
had our three-pence halfpenny, and for once in our lives 
could say that we had money in our pockets. 

The success of our first attempt encouraged us to pro- 
ceed ; but, afraid that I might do some mischief, I asked 
of Mr. Brookes the nature and qualities of the various 
medicines, as he was mixing the prescriptions, that 
I might avoid taking any of those which were poison- 
ous. Mr. Brookes, pleased with my continual inquiries, 
gave me all the information 1 could desire, and thus I 
gained not only a great deal of information, but also a 
great deal of credit with Mr. Cophagus, to whom Mr. 
Brookes had made known my diligence and thirst for 
knowledge. 

“ Good — very good,!’ said Mr. Cophagus ; “ fine boy — 
learn his business — M.D. one of these days — ride in his 
coach — um, and so on.” Nevertheless, at my second at- 
tempt, I made an awkward mistake, which very nearly 
led to detection. An Irish labourer, more than half tipsy, 
came in one evening, and asked whether we had such a 
thing as was called “ poor man’s plaster. By the 
powers it will be a poor man’s plaster, when it belongs to 
me ; but they tell me that it’s a sure and sartain cure for 
the thumbago, as they call it, which I’ve at the small of 
my back, and which is a hinder to my mounting up the 
ladder; so as it’s Saturday night, and I’ve just got the 
money. I’ll buy the plaster first, and then try what a little 
whiskey inside will do ; the devil’s in it if it won’t be 
driven out of me between the two.” 

We had not that plaster in the shop, but we had blister 


OF A FATHER. 


25 


plaster, and Timothy, handing one to me, I proffered it to 
him. “ And what may you be after asking for this same ?” 
inquired he. 

The blister plasters were sold at a shilling each when 
spread on paper, so I asked him eighteen-pence, that we 
might pocket the extra sixpence. 

“By the powers, one would think that you had made a 
mistake, and handed me the rich man’s plaster instead of 
the poor one. It’s less whiskey I’ll have to drink, any 
how; but here’s the money, and the top of the morning 
to ye, seeing as how its jist coming on night.” 

Timothy and I laughed as we divided the sixpence. It ap- 
■ peared, that after taking his allowance of whiskey, the poor 
fellow fixed the plaster on his back when he went to bed, 
and the next morning found himself in a condition not to be 
envied. It was a week before we saw him again, and, much 
to the horror of Timothy and myself, he walked into the 
shop when Mr. Brookes was employed behind the counter. 
Timothy perceived him before he saw us, and pulling me 
behind the large mortar, we contrived to make our escape 
into the back parlour, the door of which we held ajar to 
hear what would take place. 

“Murder and turf!” cried the man, “but that was the 
devil’s own plaster that you gave me here for my back, 
and it left me as raw as a turnip, taking every bit of my 
skin off me entirely, forebye my lying in bed for a whole 
week, and losing my day’s work.” 

“ I really do not recollect supplying you with a plaster, 
my good man,” replied Mr. Brookes. 

“ Then by the piper that played before Moses, if you 
don’t recollect it, I’ve an idea that I shall never forget it. 
Sure enough, it cured me, but wasn’t I quite kilt before 
I was cured?” 

“ It must have been some other shop,” observed Mr. 
Brookes. “ You have made a mistake.” 

“ Devil a bit of a mistake, except in selling me the plas- 
ter. Didn’t I get it of a lad in this same shop ?” 

“ Nobody sells things out of this shop without my 
knowledge.” 

The Irishman was puzzled— ^he looked round the shop. 
“ Well, then, if this an’t the shop, it was own sister to it.” 

“ Timothy,” called Mr. Brookes. 

“ And sure enough there was a Timothy in the other 
VoL. I. , C 


26 


* JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

shop, for I heard the boy call the other by the name ; 
however, it’s no matter, if it took off the skin, it also 
took away the thumbago ; so the morning to you, Mr. Pot- 
tykary.” 

When the Irishman departed, we made our appearance. 
“ Japhet, did you sell a plaster to an Irishman ?” 

“ Yes — don’t you recollect, last Saturday ? and I gavjB 
you the shilling.” 

' “ Very true ; but what did he ask for ?” 

“ He asked for a plaster, but he was very tipsy. I 
showed him a blister, and he took it and then I looked 
at Timothy, and laughed. 

“You must not play such tricks,” said Mr. Brookes. 
“I see Avhat you have been about — it was a joke to you, 
but not to him.” 

Mf. Brookes, who imagined we had sold it to the Irish- 
man out of fun, then gave us a very severe lecture, and 
threatened to acquaint Mr. Cophagus if ever we played 
such tricks again. Thus the affair blew over, and it made 
me very careful ; and, as every day I knew more about 
medicines, I was soon able to mix them, so as to be of 
service to those who applied, and before eighteen months 
had expired, I was trusted in mixing up all the prescrip- 
tions. At the end of that period Mr. Brookes left us, and 
I took the whole of his department upon myself, giving 
great satisfaction to Mr. Cophagus. 

And now that I have announced my promotion, it will 
perhaps be as well that I give the reader some idea of my 
personal appearance, upon which I have hitherto been 
silent. I was thin, between fifteen and sixteen years old, 
very tall for my age, and of my figure I had no reason to 
be ashamed ; a large beaming eye, and strongly marked 
aquiline nose, a high forehead, fair in complexion, but 
with very dark hair. I was always what may be termed 
a remarkably clean-looking boy, from the peculiarity of 
my skin and complexion ; my teeth were small, but were 
transparent, and I had a very deep dimple in my chin. 
Like all embryo apothecaries, I carried in my appearance, 
if not the look of wisdom, most certainly that of self-suffi- 
ciency, which does equally well with the world in gene- 
ral. My forehead was smooth, and very white, and my 
dark locks were combed back systematically, and with a 
regularity that said, as plainly as hair could do, “ The 


OF A FATHER. 


27 

owner of this does every thing by prescription, measure- 
ment, and rule.” With my long fingers I folded up the 
little packets, with an air as thoughtful and imposing as 
that of a minister who has just presented a protocol as 
interminable as unintelligible ; and the look of solemn 
sagacity with which I poured out the contents of one vial 
into the other, would have well become the king’s physi- 
cian, when he watched the “Lord’s anointed” in articulo 
mortis. 

As I followed up my saturnine avocations, I generally 
had an open book on the counter beside me ; not a mar- 
ble-covered, dirty volume, from the Minerva press, or a 
half-bound, half-guinea’s worth of Colburn’s fashionable 
trash, but a good, honest, heavy-looking, wisdom-imply- 
ing book, horribly stuffed with epithet of drug ; a book 
ill which Latin words were redundant, and here and there 
were to be observed the crabbed characters of Greek. 
Altogether, with my book and my look, I cut such a truly 
medical appearance, that even the most guarded would not 
have hesitated to allow me the sole conduct of a whitlow, 
from inflammation to suppuration, and from suppuration 
to cure, or have refused to have confided to me the entire 
suppression of a gumboil. Such were my personal quali- 
fications at the time that I was raised to the important 
office of dispenser of, I may say, life and death. 

It will not surprise the reader when I tell him that I 
was much noticed by those who came to consult, or talk 
with Mr. Cophagus. “A very fine-looking lad that, Mr. 
Cophagus,” an acquaintance would say. “ Where did 
you get him — who is his father?” 

“ Father!” Mr. Cophagus would reply, when they had 
gained the back parlour, but I could overhear him ; “ fa- 
ther, um — can’t tell — love concealment — child born- 
foundling hospital — put out — and so on.” 

This was constantly occurring, and the constant occur- 
rence made me often reflect upon my condition, which 
otherwise I might, from the happy and even tenor of my 
life, have forgotten. When I retired to my bed I would 
revolve in my mind all that I had gained from the go- 
vernors of the hospital relative to myself. The paper 
found in the basket had been given to me. I was born in 
wedlock — at least, so said that paper. The sum left with 
me also proved that my parents could not, at my birth, 


2S 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

have been paupers. The very peculiar circumstances at- 
tending my case only made' me more anxious to know 
my parentage. I was now old enough to be aware of the 
value of birth, and I was also just entering the age of 
romance, and many were the strange and absurd reveries 
in which I indulged. At one time, I would cherish the 
idea that I was of noble, if not princely birth, and frame 
reasons for concealment. At others — but it is useless to 
repeat the absurdities and castle buildings which were ge- 
rated in my brain from mystery. My airy fabrics would 
at last disappear, and leave me in all the misery of doubt 
and abandoned hope. Mr. Cophagus, when the question 
was sometimes put to him, would say, “ Good boy — very 
good boy — don’t want a father.” But he was wrong, I 
did want a father; and every day the want became more 
pressing, and I found myself continually repeating the 
question, “ WJio is my father?^’’ 

The departure of Mr. Brookes of course rendered me 
more able to follow up, with Timothy, my little profes- 
sional attempts to procure pocket-money ; but indepen- 
dent of these pillagings, by the aid of pills, and mak- 
ing drafts upon our master’s legitimate profits, by the 
assistance of draughts from his shop, accident shortly 
enabled me to raise the ways and means in a more rapid 
manner. But of this directly. In the mean time I was 
fast gaining knowledge ; every evening I read surgical 
and medical books, put into my hands by Mr. Cophagus, 
who explained whenever I applied to him, and I soon ob- 
tained a very fair smattering of my profession. He also 
taught me how to bleed, by making me, in the first in- 
stance, puncture very scientifically all the larger veins of 
a cabbage-leaf, until, well satisfied with the delicacy of my 
hand, and the precision of my eye, he wound up my in- 
structions by permitting me to breathe a vein in his own 
arm. 

“ Well,” said Timothy, when he first saw me practis- 
ing, “ I have often heard it said that there’s no getting 
blood out of a turnip ; but it seems there is more chance 
in a cabbage. I tell you what, Japhet, you may try your 
hand upon me as much as you please, for two-pence 
a go.” 

I consented to this arrangement, and by dint of practis- 
ing on Timothy over and over again, I became quite per- 


OF A FATHER. 


29 


feet. ^ I should here observe, that my anxiety relative to 
my birth increased every day ; and in one of the books 
lent me by Mr. Cophagus, there was a dissertation upon 
the human frame, sympathies, antipathies, and also on 
those features and peculiarities most likely to descend 
from one generation to another. It was there asserted, 
that the nose was the facial feature most likely to be trans- 
mitted from father to son. As I before have mentioned, 
my nose was peculiarly aquiline ; and after I had read 
this book, it was surprising with what eagerness I exa- 
mined the faces of those whom I met ; and if I saw a 
nose upon any man’s face at all resembling my own, I 
immediately would wonder and surmise whether that per- 
son could be my father. The constant dwelling upon the 
subject at last created a species of monomania, and a hun- 
dred times I would mutter to myself, “ fVlio is my fa- 
ther T"" Indeed, the very bells, when they rung a peal, 
seemed, as in the case of .Whittington, to chime the ques- 
tion; and at last I talked so much on the subject to Timo- 
thy, who was my Fidus Jichates^ and bosom friend) that 
I really believe, partial as he was to me, he wished my 
father at the devil. 

Our shop was well appointed with all that glare and 
glitter with which we decorate the “ house of calV' of 
disease and death. Being situated in such a thoroughfare, 
passengers would stop to look in, and ragged-vested, and 
in other garments still more ragged, little boys would 
stand to stare at the variety of colours, and the ’pottecary 
gentleman, your humble servant, who presided over so 
many labelled-in-gold phalanxes which decorated the sides 
of the shop. Among those who always stopped and 
gazed as they passed by, which was generally three or 
four times a day, was a well-dressed female, about forty 
years of age, straight as an arrow, with an elasticity of 
step, and a decision in her manner of walking which was 
almost masculine, although her form, notwithstanding 
that it was tall and thin, was extremely feminine and grace- 
ful. Sometimes she would fix her eyes upon me, and 
there was a wildness in her looks which certainly gave a 
painful impression, and at the same time so fascinated me, 
that when I met her gaze, the paper which contained the 
powder remained unfolded, and the arm which was pour- 
ing out the liquid suspended. She was often remarked 


30 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

by Timothy, as well as me ; and Ave further remarked, 
that her step Avas not equal throughout the day. In her 
latter peregrination, towards the evening, her gait was 
more vigorous, but unequal, at the same time that her 
gaze Avas more steadfast. She usually passed the shop, for 
the last time each day, about five o’clock in the afternoon. 
One evening, after Ave had Watched her past, as Ave sup- 
posed, to return no more till the ensuing morning, — for this 
peeping in, on her part, had become an expected occur- 
rence, and afforded much amusement to Timothy, Avho 
designated her as the “n^ad Avoman,” — to our great sur- 
prise, and to the alarm of Timothy, Avho sprung over the 
counter, and took a position by my side, she walked into 
the shop. Her eye appeared wild, as usual, but I could 
not make out that it Avas insanity ; I rather ascribed it to 
religious fanaticism. I recovered my self-possession, and 
desired Timothy to hand the lady a chair, begging to know * 
in what Avay 1 could be useful. Timothy walked round 
by the end of the counter, pushed a chair near to her, and 
then made a hasty retreat to his former position. She de- 
clined the chair Avith a motion of her hand, in Avhich 
there was much dignity, as Avell as grace, and placing 
upon the counter her hands, Avhich Avere small and beauti- 
fully Avhite, she bent forAvards toAvards me, and said, in a 
sweet, low voice, which actually startled me by its depth 
of melody, “ I am very ill.” 

My astonishment increased every moment. Why, I 
know not, because the exceptions are certainly as many 
as the general rule, Ave ahvays form an estimate of the 
voice before we hear it, from the outward appearance of 
the speaker ; and Avhen I looked up in her face, Avhich 
Avas now exposed to the glare of the argand lamp, and 
AAdtnessed the cadaverous, pale, chalky expression on it, 
and the croAv feet near the eyes, and Avrinkles on her fore- 
head, I should have sooner expected to have heard a burst 
of heavenly symphony from a thunder-cloud, than such 
music as issued from her parted lips. 

“ Good heavens, madam !” said I, eagerly and respect- 
' fully, alloAv me to send for Mr. Cophagus.” 

“ By no means,” replied she. “ I come to you. I am 
aAvare,” continued she, in an under tone, “ that you dis- 
pense medicines, give advice, and receive money your- 
self.” 


OF A FATHER. 


31 

I felt very much agitated, and the blush of detection 
mounted up to my forehead. Timothy, who heard what 
she said, showed his uneasiness in a variety of grotesque 
ways. He drew up his legs alternately, as if he were 
dancing on hot plates ; he slapped his pockets, grinned, 
clenched his fists, ground his teeth, and bit his lips till he 
made the blood come. At last he sidled up to me, “ She 
has been peeping and screwing those eyes of her’s into 
this shop for something. It’s all up with both of us, un- 
less you can buy her off.” 

“I have, madam,” said I at last, “ventured to pre- 
scribe in some trivial cases, and, as you say, received mo- 
ney when mv master is not here ; but I am intrusted with 
the till.” 

“ I know — I know — you need not fear me. You are 
too modest. What I would request is, that you would 
prescribe for me, as I have no great opinion of your mas- 
ter’s talents.” 

“ If you wish it, madam,” said I, bowing respectfully. 

“ You have camphor julep ready made up, have you not ?” 

“ Yes, madam,” replied I. 

“ Then do me the favour to send the boy with a bottle 
to my house directly.” I handed down the bottle, she 
paid for it, and putting it into Timothy’s hands, desired 
him to take it to the direction which she gave him. Ti- 
mothy put on his hat, cocked his eye at me, and left us 
alone. 

“What is your name?” said she, in the same melo- 
dious voice. 

“ Japhet Newland, madam,” replied I. 

“ Japhet — it is a good, a scriptural name,” said the lady, 
musing in half soliloquy, “ Newland — that sounds of 
mammon.” 

“ This mystery is unravelled,” thought I, and I was 
right in my conjectures. “ She is some fanatical metho- 
diit';” but I looked at her again, and her dress disclaimed 
the idea, for in it there was much taste displayed. 

“ Who gjLve you that name ?” said she, after a pause. 

The question w'as simple enough, but it stirred up a 
host of annoying recollections ; but not wishing to make a 
confidant of her, I gently replied, as I used to do in the 
Foundling Hospital on Sunday morning — “My godfathers 
and godmothers in my baptism, ma’am.” 


32 


JAPHETj IN SEARCH 

“ My dear sir, I am very ill,” said she, after a pause ; 
“ will you feel my pulse?” 

I touched a wrist, and looked at a hand that was worthy 
of being admired. What a pity, thought 1/ that she 
should be old, ugly, and half crazy ! 

“ Do you not think that this pulse of mine exhibits 
considerable nervous excitement ? I reckoned it this morn- 
ing, it was at a hundred and twenty.” 

“ It certainly beats quick,” replied I ; “ but, perhaps, the 
camphor julep may prove beneficial.” 

“I thank you for your advice, Mr. Newland,” said she, 
laying down a guinea, “ and if I am not better, I will call 
again, or send for you. Good night.” 

She walked out of the shop, leaving me in no small as- 
tonishment. What could she mean ? I was lost in reve- 
rie, when Timothy returned. The guinea remained on 
the counter. 

“ I met her going home,” said he. “ Bless me — a 
guinea— why, Japhet !” I recounted all that had passed. 
“ Well, then, it has turned out well for us instead of ill, 
as I expected.” 

The Its reminded me4hat we shared profits on these 
occasions, and I offered Tiijiothy his half; but Tim, with 
all his espieglerie, was not selfish, and he stoutly refused to 
take his share. He dubbed me an M.D., and said I had 
beat Mr. Cophagus already, for he had 'never taken a phy- 
sician’s fee. 

“ I cannot understand it, Timothy,” said I, after a few 
minutes’ thought. 

“ I can,” replied Timothy. “ She has looked in at the 
window until she has fallen in love with your handsome 
face ; that’s it, depend upon it.” As I could find no other 
cause, and Tim’s opinion was backed by my own vanity, 
I imagined that such must be the case. “Yes, ’tis so,” 
continued Timothy ; “ as the saying is, there’s money bid 
for you.” 

“ I wish that it had not been by so ill-favoured a person, at 
all events, Tim,” replied I ; “ I cannot return her affections.” 

“ Never mind that, so long as you don’t return the 
money.” 

The next evening she made her appearance, bought as 
before a bottle of camphor julep — sent Timothy home with 
it, and asking my advice, paid me another guinea. 


OP A FATHER. 


33 


“ Really, madam,” said I, putting it back towards her, 
“ I am not entitled to it.” 

“ Yes, you are,” replied she. “I know you have no 
friends, and I also know that you deserve them. You 
must purchase books, you must study, or you never will 
be a great man.” She then sat down, entered into con- 
versation, and I was struck with the fi^e and vigour of the 
remarks, which were uttered in such a melodious tone. 

Her visits during a month were constant, and every 
time did she press upon me a fee. Although not in love 
with her person, I certainly felt very grateful, and more- 
over Was charmed with the superiority of her mind. We 
were now on the most friendly and confiding terms. One 
evening, she said to me, “ Japhet, we have now been 
friends some time. Can I trust you ?” 

“ With your life, if it were necessary,” replied I. 

“I believe it,” said she. “Then can you leave the 
shop, and come to me to-morrow evening ?” 

“ Yes, if you will send your maid for me, saying that 
you are not well.” 

“ I 'will, at eight o’clock. Farewell, then, till to-mor- 
row.” 

The next evening I left Timothy in charge, and re- 
paired to her house ; it was very respectable in outward 
appearance, as well as its furniture. I was not, however, 
shown up into the first floor, but into the room below. 

“ Miss Judd will come directly, sir,” said a tall, mea- 
gre, puritanical looking maid, shutting the door upon me. 
In a few minutes, during which my pulse beat quick, for I 
could not but expect some disclosure ; Mdiether it was to be 
one of love or murder, I hardly knew wliich. Miss Ara- 
mathea Judd, for such was her Christian name, made her 
appearance, and sitting down on the sofa, requested me to 
take a seat by her. 

“ Mr. Newland,” said she, “I wish to — and I think I 
can intrust you with a secret most important to me. Wliy 
I am obliged to do it, you will perfectly comprehend when 
you have heard my story. Tell me, are you attached to 
me?” 

This was a home question to a forward lad of sixteen. 
I took her by the hand, and when I looked down on it, I 
felt as if I was. I looked up into her face, and felt that I 
was not. And as I now was close to her, I perceived that 


34 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

she must have some aromatic drug in her mouth, as it 
smelt strongly — this gave me the supposition that the 
breath which drew such melodious tones was not equally 
sweet, and I felt a certain increased degree of disgust. 

“ I am very grateful. Miss Judd,” replied I ; “I hope I 
shall prove that I am attached when you confide in me.” 

“ Swear then, by all that’s sacred, you will not reveal 
what I do confide.” 

“ By all that is sacred I will not,” replied I, kissing her 
hand with more fervour than I expected from mys'elf. 

“Do me then the favour to excuse me one minute.” 
She left the room, and in a very short time, there re- 
turned, in the same dress, in every other point the same 
person, but with a young and lively face of not more, ap- 
parently, than twenty-two or twenty-three years old. I 
started as if I had seen an apparition. “ Yes,” said she, 
smiling, “ you now see Aramathea Judd without dis- 
guise ; and you are the first who has seen that face for 
more than two years. Before I proceed further, again I 
say, may I trust you? — swear!” 

“Ido swear,” replied I, and took her hand for the 
book, which this time I kissed with pleasure, over and 
over again. Like a young jackass as I was, I still re- 
tained her hand, throwing as much persuasion as I possi- 
bly could in my eyes. In fact, I did enough to have soft- 
ened the hearts of three bonnet-makers. I began to feel 
most dreadfully in love, and thought of marriage, and 
making my fortune, and I don’t know what; but all this 
was put an end to by one simple short sentence, delivered 
in a very decided but soft voice, “ Japhet, don’t be silly.” 

I was crushed and all my hopes crushed with me. I 
dropped her hand, and sat like a fool. 

“ And now hear me. I am, as you must have already 
found out, an impostor ; that is, I am what is called a reli- 
gious adventuress — a new term, I grant, and perhaps only 
applicable to a very few. My aunt was considered by a 
certain sect to be a great prophetess, and had the gift of 
the unknown tongues, which, I hardly need tell you, is all 
nonsense ; nevertheless, there are hundreds who believed 
in her, and do so now. Brought up with my aunt, I 
soon found out what fools and dupes may be made of 
mankind by taking advantage of their credulity. She had 
her religious inspirations, her trances, and her convulsions, 


OP A FATHER. 


' 35 


and I was always behind the scenes; she confided in me, 
and I may say that I was her only confidant. You can- 
not, therefore, wonder at my practising that deceit to 
which I have been brought up from almost my infancy. 
In person I am the exact counterpart of what my aunt was 
at my age, equally so in figure, although my figure is now 
disguised to resemble that of a woman of her age.” I 
looked when she said this, and perceived that by carrying 
the bones of her stays up very high, she had contrived to 
give an appearance of flatness to a breast, which seemed 
to swell with indignation at such treatment. “ I often 
had dressed myself in my aunt’s clothes, put on her cap 
and front, and then the resemblance was very striking. 
My aunt fell sick and died, but she promised the disciples 
that she would reappear to them, and they believed her. 
I did not. She was buried, and by many her return was 
anxiously expected. It occurred to me about a week 
afterwards, that I might contrive to deceive them. I 
dressed in my aunt’s clothes, I painted and disguised my 
face as you have seen, and the deception was complete, 
even to myself, as I surveyed myself in the glass. I 
boldly set off in the evening to the tabernacle, which I 
knew they still frequented — came into the midst of them, 
speaking in the unknown tongue, and they fell down and 
worshipped me as a prophetess risen from the dead ; de- 
ceived, indeed, by my appearance, but still more deceived 
by their own credulity. For two years I have been omni- 
potent with them ; but there is one difficulty which shakes 
the faith of the new converts, and new converts I must 
have, Japhet, as the old ones die, or I should not be able 
to fee my physician. It is this ; by habit I can almost 
throw myself into a stupor or a convulsion, but to do that 
effectually, to be able to carry on the deception for so long 
a time, and to undergo the severe fatigue attending such 
violent exertion, it is necessary that I have recourse to 
stimulants — do you understand?” 

“Ido,” replied I; “I have more than once thought 
you under the influence of them towards the evening. 
I’m afraid that you take more than is good for your 
health.” 

“Not more than I require for what I have to' undergo 
to keep up the faith of my disciples ; but there are many 
who waver, some who doubt, and I find that my move- 


36 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

ments are watched. I cannot trust the woman in this 
house. I think she is a spy set upon me ; but I cannot 
remove her, as this house, and all which it contains, are 
not mine, but belong to the disciples in general. There is 
another woman, not far otf, who is my rival ; she calls 
me an impostor, and says that hers is the true unknown 
tongue, and mine is not. This will be rather difficult for 
her to prove,” continued she,- with a mocking smile, “ as 
neither are or can be understood. Beset as I am, I re- 
quire your assistance, for you must be aware that it is 
rather discreditable to a prophetess, who has risen from 
the dead, to be seen all day at the gin-shop ; yet without 
stimulants now, I could not exist.” 

“ And how can I assist you ?” 

“ By sending me, as medicine, that which I dare no 
longer procure in any other way, and keeping the secret 
which I have imparted.” 

“ I will do both with pleasure ; but yet,” said I, “ is it 
not a pity, a thousand pities, that one so young — and if 
you will allow me to add, so lovely, should give herself 
up to ardent spirits ? Why,” continued I, taking her 
small white hand, “ why should you carry on the decep- 
tion ; why sacrifice your health, and I may say your hap- 
piness ” What more I might have said I know not; 

probably it might have been an offer of marriage ; but she 
cut me short. 

“ Why does every body sacrifice their health, their hap- 
piness, their all, but for ambition and the love of power ? 
It is true, as long as this little beauty lasts, I might be 
courted as a woman, but never should I be worshipped 
as — I may say — ra god. No, no — there is something too 
delightful in that adoration, something too pleasant in 
witnessing a crowd of fools stare, and three times my age, 
falling down and kissing the hem of my garment. This 
is, indeed, adoration ! the delight arising from it is so 
great, that all other passions are crushed by it — it absorbs 
all other feelings, and has closed my heart even against 
love, Japhet. I could not, I would not debase myself, 
sink so low'in my own estimation, as to allow so paltry a 
passion to have dominion over me ; and, indeed, now that 
I am so wedded to stimulants, even if I were no longer a 
prophetess, it never could.” 

“ But is not intoxication one of the most debasing of all 
•habits ?” 


OP A FATHER. 


37 


“I grant yon ; in itself, but with me and in my situation 
it is different. I fall to rise again, and higher. I cannot 
be what I am without I simulate — I cannot simulate without 
stimulants, therefore it is but a means to a great and glo- 
rious ambition.” 

I had more conversation with her before I left, but no- 
thing appeared to move her resolution, and I left her, 
lamenting, in the first place, that she had abjured love, 
because, notwithstanding the orris root, which she kept in 
her mouth to take away the smell of the spirits, I found 
myself very much taken with such beauty of person, com- 
bined with so much vigour of mind; and in the second, 
that one so young should carry on a system of deceit and 
self-destruction. When I rose to go away she put five 
guineas in my hand, to enable me to purchase what she 
required. “ Add to this one small favour,” said I, “ Ara- 
mathea — allow me a kiss.” 

“A kiss,” replied she, with scorn; “ no, Japhet, look 
upon me, for it is the last time you will behold my youth ; 
look upon me as a sepulchre, — fair without, but unsavory 
and rottenness within. Let me do a greater kindness, 
let me awaken your dormant energies, and plant that am- 
bition in your soul, which may lead to all that is great 
and good — a better path, and more worthy of a man, than 
the one which I have partly chosen, and partly destiny has 
decided for me. Look upon me as your friend ; although, 
perhaps, you truly say, no friend unto myself. Farewell 
— remember that to-morrow you will send the medicine 
which I require.” 

I left her and returned home : it was late. I went to 
bed, and having disclosed as much to Timothy as I could 
safely venture to do, I fell fast asleep, but her figure and 
her voice haunted me in my dreams. At one time she 
appeared before me in her painted enamelled face, and then 
the mask fell off, and I fell at her feet to worship her ex- 
treme beauty : then her beauty would vanish, and she 
would appear an image of loathsomeness and deformity, 
and I felt suffocated with the atmosphere impregnated 
with the smell of liquor. I would wake and compose my- 
self again, glad to be rid of the horrid dream ; but again 
would she appear, with a hydra’s tail, like Sin in Milton’s 
Paradise Lost, wind herself round me, her beautiful face 
gradually changing into that of a skeleton. I cried out 
VoL. 1. D 


38 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

with terror, and awoke to sleep no more, and effectually 
cured by my dream of the penchant which I felt towards 
Miss Aramathea Judd. 

The next day I sent Timothy to purchase some 
highly rectified white brandy, which I coloured with a 
blue tincture, and added to it a small proportion of the 
essence of cinnamon, to disguise the smell ; a dozen large 
vials, carefully tied up and sealed, were despatched to 
her abode. She now seldom called unless it was early in 
the morning ; I made repeated visits to her house to re- 
ceive money, but no longer to make love. One day I re- 
quested permission to be present at their meeting, and to 
this she gave immediate consent; indeed, we were on the 
most intimate terms, and when she perceived that I no 
longer attempted to play the fool, I was permitted to re- 
main for hours with her in conversation. She had, as 
she told me she intended, re-enamelled and painted her 
face, but knowing what beauty was concealed underneath, 
I no longer felt any disgust; , 

Timothy was very much pleased at his share of this 
arrangement, as he seldom brought her the medicine with- 
out pocketing half a crown. For two months all went on 
well, but Timothy had such curiosity to attend one of 
these meetings, that he himself asked Miss Judd’s permis- 
sion — it was granted ; he went there with me, witnessed 
the scene, of folly, duplicity, and credulity, and without 
my having any idea of what he intended, he formed a pro- 
ject in his own head by which to expose it; his love of 
fun overcoming all motives, arising from interest and 
prudence. 

We had some difficulty to obtain permission for both of us 
to go out ; but Mr. Cophagus consented, as we had not had 
a holiday for the whole period we had. been in his service. 
He staid at home, and we Went to drink tea with Miss 
Judd, by appointment, as we asserted. But Timothy was 
determined to go a second time to the meeting, that he 
might put his project into execution. I again applied to 
Mr. Cophagus, little thinking that I was taking a step 
which would put an end to all the presentation guineas 
which 1 received, in return for my supplying Miss Judd 
with the means of deceiving her disciples. 

“Out again,” said Mr. Cophagus, “when — um — why 
— no, no.” 


OP A FATHER. 


39 


1 replied that we had free admissions presented to us 
for one of the minor theatres, and that we had never been 
to a theatre in our lives. 

“Theatre — music — all for nothing — good — what’s the 
play ?” 

“ Mock Doctor, sir, and another.” 

“ Mock Doctor — cut up profession — um — ^bad — very 
funny, and so on. Go.” And so we went. 

Timothy had not taken his basket of medicine on that 
day, as I thought, and he put it on his arm ; but the rogue 
had delivered it before ; still he carried his basket. The 
disciples were all collected when we arrived, and on our 
entering the drawing-room, on the first floor, we found 
Miss Judd in her low pulpit, not a little the worse for 
liquor, but, nevertheless, all the better able to act her part. 

I took my place, as I generally did when I went there, 
behind the pulpit, where I perceived that a store of vials 
full of my medicine were deposited, in case she should re- 
quire them, a circumstance which did not escape the 
mischief-loving Timothy. Miss Judd had just commenced 
her shrieks — “ Ullima ! Ullima ! protocol parbihi chron ton 
— Ullima! Ullima! — there is a little light.” Two old 
fools, with spectacles, were taking down the words which 
escaped from her lips on large books, already filled with her 
former inspirations, of which they supposed that one day 
they were to receive the key. Another dose from one of 
my bottles, which stood beside on the pulpit, and she 
again commenced her violent gestures and strange jargon 
— crying out, “ There is more light — Ullima ! Ullima ! 
Yes, there sure is light — is light;” and then overcome 
with her violence and frantic gesticulations, she fell down, 
as they supposed, in a trance, in which she asserted she 
was permitted to view the mansions of the blessed. I re-^ 
ceived her into my arms, and laid her on the floor of the 
room ; and now half a dozen old women, who considered 
that they also had been favoured with the tongues, com- 
menced a simultaneous howl, enough to frighten away the 
evil spirit. At last they threw themselves down on the 
floor in apparent convulsions. Timothy ran to them, and 
pouring down their throats vial after vial, the contents of 
which they sucked in greedily, soon made them more 
outrageous, while the other disciples seated on each side 
of the room, on two long forms, cried out, “A visitation, 


40 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

a visitation ! Hosannah to on high — Hosannah to the pro- 
phetess !” This blasphemy continued about half an hour, 
when Aramathea rose, as if recovered from her trance ; but 
the liquor had had its effect ; her gait was trembling, and 
she required my support to gain the pulpit. She had just 
obtained her position, and, holding on by both hands, was 
about to address the meeting, when Timothy, who had 
purchased about two score of sparrows, and had them con- 
cealed in his basket, opened the lid and let them all fly ; 
they immediately flew to the lights, which they extin- 
guished, and all was in darkness. To the howling of the 
drunken old women was now added the cries of alarm. 
Timothy jumped on the table, and with a piece of phos- 
phorus, which he had in a small vial of water all ready, 
marked out on his own clothes and person, rib after rib, 
bone after bone, until he appeared by degrees, to their 
astonished eyes, to form himself into a fiery skeleton. 
Then came shrieks of horror and dismay ; the uproar was 
astounding. “ Beelzebul Alreddin ! — Ullima ! Ullima ! — 
Avaunt Ashteroth ! — Avaunt Ullima ! my Ullima ! — Pro- 
phetess, where are you ?” Up they all rose at last, for 
fear hitherto held them to their seats — up they all rose 
like two coveys of birds, to escape from the evil one, who 
they imagined had entered into their tabernacle ; but Tim- 
othy had walked behind the forms, and having procured 
about two dozen small gimlets, had silently and unper- 
ceived fixed every man and woman by their clothes to 
the long forms on which they had been seated ; so that 
when they all got up, the forms adhered to and connected 
them all together, and the fall of one or two brought down 
all the rest, sprawling, kicking, and shrieking on the floor, 
in their horror and dismay. It was a pandemonium — and 
Timothy on the table, flaming in phosphorus, looked like 
Satan when he called the fallen angels from the fiery gulf. 
For myself, aware of what would take place, I drew the 
now almost insensible form of Aramathea away from the 
pulpit, and contrived to gain the door and carry her down 
stairs. Timothy, after adding one or two yells to increase 
the clamour and dismay, sprang from the table and fol- 
lowed me. Just as we had closed the parlour-door, the 
police burst in and ascended the stairs, and we took that 
opportunity to escape, carrying the insensible Aramathea 
between us. Notwithstanding some opposition, pij the 


OF A FATHER. 


41 

part of the crowd collected outside, we contrived to get 
clear of it, and at last gained the house of Mr. Cophagus. 

“ Ha !” cried he, opening the door, “ what’s all this? — 
young woman — run over — much hurt, and so on ?” 

“ Not very much hurt, sir, I believe,” replied I, “ but 
very much frightened,” as we carried her into the back 
parlour, and laid her on the sofa. 

Mr. Cophagus proceeded to examine her ; he felt her 
pulse — he opened her eyelids — he smelt her breath. 
“Ah!” said he, “can’t prescribe — ^bad woman — quite 
drunk — gin — um — compounds, and so on.” He then 
went to the door, called a watchman, ordered Miss Judd 
to be taken to the watchhouse, where she was locked up 
’with all her disciples, who had preceded her. We dared 
not make any objections. The next day I was informed 
by report of the exposure Avhich had taken place, and 
never after that heard any more of Miss Aramathea Jirdd. 

I blamed Timothy very much for his unguarded be- 
haviour ; but he defended himself, by observing that it was 
his duty to unmask hypocrisy so nefarious, and that there 
could be no good derived from money bestowed, as it had 
been on us, for such a pernicious confederacy. I could 
not deny the truth of his observations ; and when I re- 
flected, I blushed at the sums I had received and squan- 
dered away. We continued to live in the greatest har- 
mony, and I found favour more and more in the sight of 
"Mr. Cophagus. 

After this affair of Miss Judd, I adhered steadily to my 
business, and profited by the advice given me by that 
young person, improved rapidly in my profession, as 
well as in general knowledge ; but my thoughts, as usual, 
were upon one subject — my parentage, and the mystery 
hanging over it. My eternal reveries became at last so 
painful, that I had recourse to reading to drive them away, 
and subscribing to a good circulating library, I was seldom 
without a book in my hand. By this time I had been 
nearly two years and a half with Mr. Cophagus, when an 
adventure occurred which I must attempt to describe with 
all the dignity with which it ought to be invested^ 

This is a world of ambition, competition, and rivalry. 
Nation rivals nation, and flies to arms, cutting the throats 
of a few thousands on each side, till one finds that it has 
the worst of it. Man rivals man, and hence detraction, 

D 2 


42 


_ JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

duels, and individual death. Woman rivals woman, and 
hence loss of reputation and position in high, and loss of 
hair, and fighting with pattens in low, life. Are we then 
to be surprised that this universal passion, undeterred by 
the smell of drugs and poisonous compounds, should enter 
into apothecaries’ shops ? Certainly not. Let me pro- 
ceed. But two streets — two very short streets from our 
own — was situated the single-fronted shop of Mr. Ebene- 
zer Pleggit. Thank heaven, it was only single-fronted ; 
there, at least, we had the ascendency over them. Upon 
other points, our advantages were rriore equally balanced. 
Mr. Pleggit had two large coloured bottles in his windows 
more than we had ; but then we had two horses, and he 
had only one. He tied over the corks of his bottles with • 
red-coloured paper ; we covered up the lips of our vials 
with true blue. It certainly was the case — for though an 
enemy. I’ll do him justice — that after Mr. Brookes had 
left us, Mr. Pleggit had two shopmen, and Mr. Cophagus 
only one ; but then that one was Mr. Japhet Newland ; 
besides, one of his assistants had only one eye, and the 
other squinted horribly, so if we measured by eyes, I 
think the advantage was actually on our side ; and as far 
as ornament went, most decidedly ; for who would not 
prefer putting on his chimney-piece one handsome, ele- 
gant vase, than two damaged, ill-looking pieces of crock- 
ery ? Mr. Pleggit had certainly a gilt mortar and pestle 
over his door, which Mr. Cophagus had omitted when he 
furnished his shop ; but then the mortar had a great crack 
down the middle, and the pestle had lost its knob. And 
let me ask those who have been accustomed to handle it, 
what is a pestle without a knob ? On the whole, I think, 
with the advantage of having two fronts, like Janus, we 
certainly had the best of the comparison ; but I shall 
leave the impartial to decide. All I can say is, that the 
feuds of the rival houses were most bitter — the hate in- 
tense — the mutual scorn unmeasurable. Did Mr. Ebene- 
zer Pleggit meet Mr. Phineas Cophagus in the street, the 
former immediately began to spit as if he had swallowed 
some of his own vile adulterated drugs ; and in rejoinder, 
Mr. Cophagus immediately raised the cane from his nose 
high above his forehead in so threatening an attitude, as 
almost to warrant the other swearing the peace against 
him, muttering, “ Ugly puppy — knows nothing — um — 


OF A FATHER. 


43 

patients die — and so on.” It may be well supposed that 
this spirit of enmity extended through the lower branches 
of the rival houses — the assistants and I were at deadly 
feud ; and this feud was even more deadly between the 
boys M^ho carried out the medicines, and whose baskets 
might, in some measure, have been looked upon as the 
rival ensigns of the parties, they themselves occupying 
the dangerous and honourable post of standard bearer. 
Timothy, although the kindest-hearted fellow in the 
world, was as good a hater as Dr. Johnson himself could 
have wished to meet with ; and when sometimes his bas- 
ket was not so well filled as usual, he would fill up with 
empty bottles below, rather than the credit of the house 
should be suspected, and his deficiencies create a smile 
of scorn in the mouth of his red-haired antagonist, when 
they happened to meet going their rounds. As yet, no ac- 
tual collision had taken place between either the principals 
or the subordinates of the hostile factions ; but it was 
fated that this state of quiescence should no longer remain. 

Homer has sung the battles of gods, demigods, and 
heroes ; Milton the strife of angels. Swift has been great 
in his Battle of the Books ; but I am not aware that the 
battle of the vials has as yet been sung ; and it requires a 
greater genius than was to be found in those who por- 
trayed the conflicts of heroes, demigods, gods, angels, or 
books, to do adequate justice to the mortal strife which 
took place between the lotions, potions, draughts, pills, 
and embrocations. I must tell the story as well as 1 can, 
leaving it as an outline for a future epic. 

Burning with all the hate which infuriated the breasts 
of the two houses of Capulet and Montague, hate each 
day increasing from years of “ biting thumbs” at each 
other, and yet no excuse presenting itself for an affray, 
Timothy Oldmixon — for on such an occasion it would be 
a sin to omit his whole designation — Timothy Oldmixon, 

I say, burning with hate and eager -with haste, turning a 
corner of the street with his basket well filled with medi- 
cines hanging on his left arm, encountered, equally eager 
in his haste, and equally burning in his hate, the red-haired 
Mercury of Mr. Ebenezer Pleggit. Great was the con- 
cussion of the opposing baskets, dire was the crash of 
many of the vials, and dreadful was the mingled odour of 
the abominations which escaped, and poured through the 


44 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

wicker interstices. Two ladies from Billingsgate, who 
were near, indulging their rhetorical powers, stopped 
short. Two tom cats, who were on an adjacent roof, just 
fixing their eyes of enmity, and about to fix their claws, 
turned their eyes to the scene below. Two political anta- 
gonists stopped their noisy arguments. Two dustmen 
ceased to ring their bells ; and two little urchins eating 
cherries from the crowns of their hats, lost sight of their 
fruit, and stood aghast with fear. They met, and met 
with such violence, that they each rebounded many paces ; 
but, like stalwart knights, each kept his basket and his 
feet. A few seconds to recover breath ; one withering, 
fiery look from Timothy, returned by his antagonist; one 
flash of the memory in each to tell them that they each 
had the la on their side, and “ Take that !” was roared by 
'I^mothy, planting a well-directed blow with his dexter 
and dexterous hand upon the sinister and sinisterous eye 
of his opponent. “ Take that !” continued he, as his ad- 
versary reeled back ; “ take that, and be d — d to you, for 
running against a gentleman.'’* 

He of the rubicund hair had retreated, because so vio- 
lent was the blow he could not help so doing, and we all 
must yield to fate. But it was not from fear. Seizing a 
vile potation that was labelled “To be taken immedi- 
ately,” and hurling it with demoniacal force right on the 
chops of the courageous Timothy, “Take that!” cried he, 
with a rancorous yell. The missile, well directed as the 
spears of Homer’s heroes, came full upon the bridge of 
Timothy’s nose, and the fragile glass, shivering, inflicted 
diverse wounds upon his physiognomy, and at the same 
time poured forth a dark burnt-sienna-coloured balsam, to 
heal them, giving pain unutterable. Timothy, disdaining 
to lament the agony of his wounds, followed the example 
of his antagonist, and hastily seizing a similar bottle of 
much larger dimensions, threw it with such force that it 
split between the eyes of his opponent. Thus with these 
dreadful weapons did they commence the mortal strife. 

The lovers of good order ^ or at least of fair play, ga- 
thered round the combatants, forming an almost impreg- 
nable ring, yet of sufficient dimensions to avoid the 
missiles. “ Go it, red-head T * — “ Bravo ! white apron P'* 
resounded on every side. Draught now met draughts in 
their passage through the circumambient air, and exploded 


OF A FATHER. 


45 

like shells over a besieged town. Bolusses were fired 
with the precision of cannon-shot, pill-boxes were thrown 
with such force that they burst like grape and canister, 
while acids and alkalies hissed, as they neutralized each 
other’s power, with all the venom of expiring snakes. 
“ Bravo ! white apron !” — “ Red-head for ever !” re- 
sounded on every side, as the conflict continued with un- 
abated vigour. The ammunition was fast expending on 
both sides, when Mr. Ebenezer Pleggit, hearing the noise, 
and perhaps smelling his own drugs, was so unfortunately 
rash, and so unwisely foolhardy, as to break through the 
sacred ring, advancing from behind with uplifted cane to 
fell the redoubtable Timothy, when a mixture of his own, 
hurled by his own red-haired champion, caught him in 
his open mouth, breaking against his^ only two remaining 
front teeth, extracting them as the discharged liquid ran 
down his throat, and turning him as sick as a dog. He 
fell, was taken away on a shutter, and it was some days 
before he was again to be seen in his shop, dispensing 
those medicines which, on this fatal occasion, he would 
but too gladly have dispensed with. 

Reader, have you not elsewhere read in the mortal fray 
between knights, when the casque has been beaten otf, the 
shield lost, and the sword shivered, how they have re- 
sorted to closer and more deadly strife with their daggers 
raised on high ? Thus it was with Timothy ; his means 
had failed, and disdaining any longer to wage a distant 
combat, he closed vigorously with his panting enemy, 
overthrew him in the first struggle, seizing from his bas- 
ket the only weapons which remained, one single vial 
and one single box of pills. As he sat upon his prostrate 
foe, first he forced the box of pills into his gasping mouth, 
and then with the lower end of the vial he drove it down 
his throat, as a gunner rams home the wad and shot into 
a thirty-two pound carronade. Choked with the box, the 
fallen knight held up his hands for quarter ; but Timothy 
continued, until the end of the vial breaking out the top 
and bottom of the pasteboard receptacle, forty -and-eight 
of antibilious pills rolled in haste down Red-head’s 
throat. Timothy seized his basket, and amid the shouts 
of triumph, walked away. His fallen-crested adversary 
coughed up the remnants of the pasteboard, once more 
breathed, and was led disconsolate to the neighbouring 


46 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

pump ; while Timothy regained our shop with his blush- 
ing honours thick upon him. 

But I must drop the vein heroical. Mr. Cophagus, 
who was at home when Timothy returned, was at first very 
much inclined to be wrath at the loss of so much medicine ; 
but when he heard the story, and the finale, he was so 
pleased at Tim’s double victory over Mr. Pleggit and his 
messenger, that he actually put his hand in his pocket, and 
pulled out half a crown. 

Mr. Pleggit, on the contrary, was any thing but pleased ; 
he went to a lawyer, and commenced an action for assault 
and battery, and all the neighbourhood did nothing but 
talk about the affray which had taken place, and the 
action at law, which it was said would take place in the 
ensuing term. 

But with the exception of this fracas, which ended in 
the action not holding good, whereby the animosity was 
increased, I have little to recount during the remainder of 
the time I served under Mr. Cophagus. I had been more 
than three years with him, when my confinement became 
insupportable. I had but one idea, which performed an 
everlasting cycle in my brain. Who was my father? 
And I should have abandoned the profession to search the 
world in the hope of finding my progenitor, had it not 
been that I was without the means. Latterly I had 
hoarded up all I could collect ; but the sum was small, much 
too small for the proposed expedition. I became melan- 
choly, indifferent to the business, and slovenly in my ap- 
pearance, when a circumstance occurred which put an end 
to my further dispensing medicines, and left me a free 
agent. 

It happened one market day there was an overdriven, 
infuriated beast, which was making sad havoc. Crowds 
of people were running past our shop in one direction, and 
the cries of “ Mad bull !” were re-echoed in every quarter. 
Mr. Cophagus, who was in the shop, and to whom, as I 
have before observed, a mad bull was a source of great 
profit, very naturally looked out of the shop to ascertain 
whether the animal was near to us. In most other 
countries, when people hear of any danger, they generally 
avoid it by increasing their distance ; but in England, it is 
too often the case, that they are so fond of indulging their 
curiosity, that they run to the danger. Mr. Cophagus, 


OP A FATHER. 


47 


who perceived the people running one way, naturally sup- 
posed, not being aware of the extreme proximity of the 
animal, that the people were running to see what was the 
matter, and turned his eyes in that direction, walking out 
on the pavement that he might have a fairer view. He 
was just observing, “ Can’t say — fear — um — rascal Pleg- 
git — close to him — get all the custom — wounds — contu- 
sions — and” When the animal came suddenly round 

the corner upon Mr. Cophagus, who had his eyes the other 
way, and before he could escape, tossed him right through 
his own shop windows, and landed him on the counter. 
Not satisfied with this, the beast followed him into the 
shop. Timothy and I pulled Mr. Cophagus over towards 
us, and he dropped inside the counter, where we also 
crouched, frightened out of our wits. To our great horror, 
the bull made one or two attempts to leap the counter ; 
but not succeeding, and being now attacked by the dogs 
and butcher boys, he charged at them through the door, 
carrying away our best scales on his horns as a trophy, 
as he galloped out of the shop in pursuit of his persecu- 
tors. When the shouts and halloos were at some little 
distance, Timothy and I raised our heads and looked 
round us ; and perceiving that all was safe, we proceeded 
to help Mr. Cophagus, who remained on the floor bleed- 
ing, and in a state of insensibility. We carried him into 
the back parlour, and laid him on the sofa. I desired 
I’imothy to run for surgical aid as fast as he could, while 
I opened a vein ; and in a few minutes he returned with 
our opponent, Mr. Ebenezer Pleggit. We stripped Mr. 
Cophagus, and proceeded to examine him. “ Bad case 
this — very bad case, indeed, Mr. Newland — dislocation 
of the os humeri — severe contusion on the os frontis — and 
Pm very much 'afraid there is some intercostal injury. 
Very sorry, very sorry, indeed, for my brother Cophagus.” 
But Mr. Pleggit did not appear to be sorry ; on the con- 
trary, he appeared to perform his surgical duties with the 
greatest glee. 

We reduced the dislocation, and then carried Mr. Co- 
phagus up to his bed. In an hour he was sensible, and 
Mr. Pleggit took his departure, shaking hands with Mr. 
Cophagus, and wishing him joy of his providential es- 
cape. “ Bad job, Japhet,” said Mr. Cophagus to me. 

“ Very bad indeed, sir ; but it might have been worse.” 


48 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

“ Worse — um — no, nothing worse — not possible.” 

“ Why, sir, you might have been killed.” 

“ Pooh ! didn’t mean that — mean Pleggit — rascal — um— - 
kill me if he can — shan’t though — soon get rid of him — 
and so on.” 

“ You will not require his further attendance now that 
your shoulder is reduced. I can very well attend upon 
you.” 

“Very true, Japhet; — but won’t go — sure of that — 
damned rascal — quite pleased — I saw it — um — eyes 
twinkled — smile checked — and so on.” 

That evening Mr. Pleggit called in, as Mr. Cophagus 
said that he would, and the latter showed a great deal of 
impatience ; but Mr. Pleggit repeated his visit over and 
over again, and I observed that Mr. Cophagus no longer 
made any objection ; on the contrary, seemed anxious for 
his coming, and more so after he was convalescent, and 
able to sit at his table. But the mystery was soon divulged. 
It appeared that Mr. Cophagus, although he was very 
glad that other people should suffer from mad bulls, and 
come to be cured, viewed the case in a very different 
light when the bull thought proper to toss him ; and having 
now realized a comfortable independence, he had resolved 
to retire from business, and from a site attended with so 
much danger. A hint of this escaping when Mr. Pleggit 
was attending him on the third day after his accident, the 
latter, who knew the value of the locale, also hinted that 
if Mr. Cophagus was inclined so to do, that he would be 
most happy to enter into an arrangement with him. Self- 
interest will not only change friendship into enmity, in 
this rascally world, but also turn enmity into friendship. 
All Mr. Pleggit’s enormities, and all Mr. Cophagus’ 
shameful conduct, were mutually forgotten. In less than 
ten minutes it was, “ il/i/ dear Mr. Pleggit, and so on,” 
and “A/?/ dear brother Cophagus.^’ 

In three weeks every thing had been arranged between 
them, and the shop, fixtures, stock in trade, and good will, 
were all the property of our ancient antagonist. But al- 
though Mr. Pleggit could shake hands with Mr. Cophagus 
for his fixtures and good tvill, yet as Timothy and I were 
not included in the good will, neither were we included 
among the fixtures, and Mr. Cophagus could not, of 
course, interfere with Mr. Pleggit’s private arrange- 


OP A FATHER. 


49 


ments. He did all he could do in the way of recommend- 
ation, but Mr. Pleggit had not forgotten my occasional 
impertinence, or the battle of the bottles. I really believe 
that his ill will against Timothy was one :^eason for pur- 
chasing the good will of Mr. Cophagus, and we were 
very gently told by Mr. Pleggit that he would have no 
occasion for our services. Mr. Cophagus otfered to pro- 
cure me another situation as soon as he could, and at the 
same time presented me with twenty guineas, as a proof of 
his regard and appreciation of my conduct ; but this sum put 
in my hand decided me : I thanked him, and told him I 
had other views at present, but hoped he would let me 
know where I might find him hereafter, as I should be 
glad to see him again. He told me he would leave his ad- 
dress for me at the Foundling, and shaking me heartily by 
the hand, we parted. Timothy was then summoned. 
Mr. Cophagus gave him five guineas, and wished him 
good fortune. 

“And now, Japhet, what are you about to do?” said 
Timothy, as he descended into the shop. 

“ To do,” replied I ; “lam about to leave you, which 
is the only thing I am sorry for. I am going, Timothy, 
in search of my father.” 

“Well,” replied Timothy, “I feel as you do, Japhet, 
that it will be hard to part ; and there is another thing on 
my mind — which is, I am very sorry that the bull did not 
break the rudimans, (pointing to the iron mortar and pes- 
tle;) had he had but half the spite I have against it, he 
would not have left a piece as big as a thimble. I’ve a 
great mind to have a smack at it before I go.” 

“You will only injure Mr. Cophagus, for the mortar 
will not then be paid for.” 

“ Very true ; and as he has just given me five guineas, 
I will refrain from my just indignation. But now, Japhet, 
let me speak to you. I don’t know how you feel, but I 
feel as if I could not part with you. I do not want to go 
in search of my father particularly. They say it’s a wise 
child that knows its own father ; but as there can be no 
doubt of my other parent — if 1 can only hit upon her, I 
have a strong inclination to go in search of my mother ; 
and if you like- my company, why I will go with you — 
always, my dear Japhet,” continued Tim, “ keeping in 
my mind the great difference between a person who has 

VoL. I. E 


50 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

been feed as an M.D., and a lad who only carries out his 
prescriptions.” 

“ Do you really mean to say, Tim, that you will go 
with me?” 

“Yes, to the end of the world, Japhet, as your compa- 
nion, your friend, and your servant, if you require it. I 
love you, Japhet, and I will serve you faithfully.” 

“ My dear Tim, I am delighted ; now I am really hap- 
py : we will have but one purse and but one interest ; if I 
find good fortune, you shall share it.” 

“ And if you meet with ill luck, I will share that too — 
so the affair is settled ; and as here comes Mr. Pleggit’s 
assistants with only one pair of eyes between them, the 
sooner we pack up the better.” 

In half an hour all was ready ; a bundle each, contained 
our wardrobes. We descended from our attic, walked 
proudly through the shop without making any observa- 
tion, or taking any notice of our successors ; all the notice 
taken was by Timothy, who turned round and shook his 
fist at his old enemies, the iron mortar and pestle, and 
there we were, standing on the pavement, with the wide 
world before us, and quite undecided which way we 
should go. 

“ Is it to be east, west, north, or south, Japhet?” said 
Timothy. 

“ The wise men came from the east,” replied I. 

“ Then they must have travelled west,” said Tim ; “ let 
us show our wisdom by doing the same.” 

“ Agreed.” 

Passing by a small shop, we purchased two good sticks, 
as defenders, as well as to hang our bundles on — and off 
we set upon our pilgrimage. 

I believe it to be a very general action, when people set 
off upon a journey, to reckon up their means — that is, to 
count the money which they may have in their pockets. 
At all events, this was done by Timothy and me, and I 
found that my stock amounted to twenty-two pounds 
eighteen shillings, and Timothy’s to the five guineas pre- 
sented by Mr. Cophagus, and three half-pence which were 
in the corner of his waistcoat pocket — sum total, twenty- 
eight pounds three shillings and three halfpence ; a very 
handsome sum, as we thought, with which to commence 
our peregrinations, and, as I observed to Timothy, sufii- 


OF A FATHER. 51 

cient to last us for a considerable time, if husbanded with 
care. 

“Yes,” replied he; “but we must husband our legs 
also, Japhet, or we shall soon be tired, and very soon 
wear out our shoes. I vote we take a hackney coach.” 

“ Take a hackney coach, Tim ! we mustn’t think of it; 
we cannot afford such luxury ; you can’t be tired yet, we 
are now only just clear of Hyde Park Corner.” 

“ Still I think we had better take a coach, Japhet, and 
here is one coming. I always do take one when I carry 
out medicines, to make up for the time I lose looking at 
the shops, and playing peg in the ring.” 

I now understood what Timothy meant, which was, to 
get behind and have a ride for nothing. I consented to 
this arrangement, and we got up behind one which was 
already well filled inside. “ The only difference between 
an inside and outside passenger in a hackney coach, is, that 
the one pays, and the other does not,” said I to Timothy, 
as we rolled along at the act of parliament speed of four 
miles per hour. 

“That depends upon circumstances: if we are found 
out, in all probability we shall not only have our ride, but 
he paid into the bargain.” 

“ With the coachman’s whip, I presume ?” 

“ Exactly.” And Timothy had hardly time to get the 
word out of his mouth, when flac, flac, came the whip 
across our eyes — a little envious wretch, with his shirt 
hanging out of his trowsers, having called out Cut behind! 
Not wishing to have our faces or our behinds cut any 
more, we hastily descended, and reached the footpath, 
after having gained about three miles on the road before 
we were discovered. 

“ That wasn’t a bad lift, Japhet, and as for the whip I 
never mind that with corduroys. And now, Japhet, I’ll 
tell you something ; we must get into a wagon, if we can 
find one going down the road, as soon as it is dark.” 

“ But that will cost money, Tim.” 

“ It’s economy, I tell you ; for a shilling, if you bar- 
gain, you may ride the whole night, and if we stop at a 
public-house to sleep, we shall have to pay for our beds, 
as well as be obliged to order something to eat, and pay 
dearer for it than if we buy what we want in cooks’ 
shops.” 


52 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

“ There is sense in what you say, Timothy ; we will 
look out for a wagon.” 

“ Oh ! it’s no use now — wagons are like black beetles, 
not only in shape but in habits, they only travel by night — 
at least most of them do. We are now coming into long 
dirty Brentford, and I don’t know how you feel, Japhet, 
but I find that walking wonderfully increases the appetite— 
that’s another reason why you should not walk when you 
can ride — for nothing.” 

“Well, I am rather hungry myself; and, dear me, 
how very good that piece of roast pork looks in that 
window !” 

“ I agree with you — let’s go in, and make a bargain.” 

We bought a good allowance for a shilling, and after 
sticking out for a greater proportion of mustard than the 
woman said we were entitled to, and some salt, we 
wrapped it up in a piece of paper, and continued our 
course, till we arrived at a baker’s, where we purchased 
our bread, and then taking up a position on a bench out- 
side a public-house, called for a pot of beer, and putting 
our provisions down before us, made a hearty, and, what 
made us more enjoy it, an independent meal. Having 
finished our pork and our porter, and refreshed ourselves, 
we again started, and walked till it was quite dark, when 
we felt so tired that we agreed to sit down on our bundles 
and wait for the first wagon which passed. We soon 
heard the jingling of bells, and shortly afterward its enor- 
mous towering bulk appeared between us and the sky. 
We went up to the wagoner, who was mounted on a little 
pony, and asked him if he could give two poor lads a lift, 
and how much he would charge us for the ride 

“ How much can you afford to give, measters ; for there 
be others as poor as ye ?” We replied that we could give 
a shilling. “ Well, then, get up in God’s name, and ride 
as long as you will. Get in behind.” 

“Are there many people in there already ?” said I, as I 
climbed up, and Timothy handed me the bundles. 

“Noa,” replied the wagoner, “ there be nobody but a 
mighty clever poticary or doctor, I can’t tell which ; but 
he wear an uncommon queer hat, and he talk all sort of 
doctor stuff — and there be his odd man and his odd boy ; 
that be all, and there be plenty of room, and plenty o’ clean 
stra\” 


OF A FATHER. 


53 


^ . 

After this intimation we climbed up, and gained a situa- 
tion in the rear of the wagon under the cloth. As the 
wagoner said, there was plenty of room, and we nestled 
into the straw without coming into contact with the other 
travellers. Not feeling any inclination to sleep, Timothy 
and I entered into conversation, sotto voce, and had con- 
tinued for more than half an hour, supposing by their 
silence that the other occupants of the wagon were asleep, 
when we were interrupted by a voice clear and sonorous 
as a bell. 

“ It would appear that you are wanderers, young men, 
and journey you know not whither. Birds seek their 
nests when the night fall — beasts hasten to their lairs — 
man bolts his door. ‘ Propria quae marihus,’' as Herodo- 
tus hath it ; which, when translated, means, that ‘ such is 
the nature of mankind.’ ‘ Trihuuntur mascula dicas' 
‘ Tell me your troubles,’ as Homer says.” 

1 was very much surprised at this address — my know- 
ledge of the language, for I had studied the grammar with 
Mr. Brookes, told me immediately that the quotations 
were out of the Latin grammar, and that all his learning 
was pretence; still there was a novelty of style which 
amused me, and at the same time gave me an idea that the 
speaker was an uncommon personage. I gave Timothy a 
nudge, and then replied, 

“You have guessed right, most learned sir; we are, as 
you say, wanderers seeking our fortunes, and trust yet to 
find them — still we have a weary journey before us. 
‘ Haustus hord soinni sumendum,^ as Aristotle hath it ; 
which I need not translate to so learned a person as your- 
self.” 

“ Nay, indeed, there is no occasion ; yet am I pleased 
to meet with one who hath scholarship,” replied the other. 
“ Have you also a knowledge of the Greek ?” 

“ No, I pretend not to Greek.” 

“ It is a pity that thou hast it not, for thou wouldst 
delight to commune with the ancients. Esculapius hath 
these words — ‘ As/io/der — offmotton — accapon — pasti — ve- 
mson,’ — which I will translate for thee — ‘ We often find 
what we seek, when we least expect it.’ May it be so 
with you, my friend. Where have you been educated? 
and what has been your profession ?” 

E 2 


54 


JAPHET, m SEARCH 

I thought I risked little in telling ; so I replied, that I 
had been brought up as a surgeon and apothecary, and had 
been educated at a foundation school. 

“ ’Tis well,” replied he ; “ you have then commenced 
your studies in my glorious profession ; still have you 
much to learn ; years of toil, under a great master, can 
only enable you to benefit mankind as I have done ; and 
years of hardship and of danger must be added thereunto, 
to afford you the means. There are many hidden secrets. 
‘ IJt sunt Bivorum, Mars^ Bacchus, Apollo, Virorum ,’’ — 
many parts of the globe to traverse, ‘ XJt Cato, Virgilius, 
jiuviorum, ut Tibris, Orontes.' All these have I visited, 
and many more. Even now do I journey to obtain more 
of my invaluable medicine, gathered on the highest Andes, 
when the moon is in her perigee. There I shall remain 
for months among the clouds, looking down upon the 
great plain of Mexico, which shall appear no larger than 
the head of a pin, where the voice of man is heard not. 
‘ Vocito vocitas vocitavi,^ bending for months towards the 
earth. ‘ jSs in presenti,^ suffering with the cold — Africa 
quod fricui dat,' as Eusebius hath it. Soon shall I be 
borne away by the howling winds towards the new world, 
where I can obtain more of the wonderful medicine, which, 
I may say, never yet hath failed me, and which nothing 
but love towards my race induces me to gather at such 
pains and risk.” 

“ Indeed, sir,” replied I, amused with his imposition, 
“ I should like to accompany you — for, as Josephus says 
most truly, ^ Capiat pillulx duse post prandiumJ' Travel 
is, indeed, a most delightful occupation, and I would like 
to run over the whole world.” 

“And I would like to follow you,” interrupted Timothy. 
“I suspect we have commenced our grand tour already — 
three miles behind a hackney-coach — ten on foot, and 
about two, I should think, in this wagon. But as Co- 
phagus says, ‘ Cochlearija crash many summendush,' 
which means, * there are ups and downs in this world.’ ” 

“ Hah !” exclaimed our companion. “ He, also, has 
the rudiments.” 

“Nay, I hope I’ve done with the rudimans,'^ replied 
Timothy. 

“ Is he your follower?” inquired the man. 


or A FATHER. 


55 

“ That very much depends upon who walks first,” 
replied Timothy, “ but whether or no — we hunt in 
couples.” 

“ I understand — you are companions. ‘ Concordat cum 
nominativo numero et personal Tell me, can you roll 
- pills, can you^ use the pestle and the mortar, handle the 
scapula, and mix ingredients ?” 

I replied, that of course I knew my profession. 

“ Well, then, as we have still some hours of night, let 
us now obtain some rest. In the morning, when the sun 
hath introduced us to each other, I may then judge from 
your countenances whether it is likely that we may be 
better acquainted. Night is the time for repose, as Quin- 
tus Curtius says, ‘ Custos, bos, fur atque sacerdos.' 
Sleep was made for all — my friends, good night.” 

Timothy and I took his advice, and were soon fast 
asleep. 1 was awakened the next morning by feeling a 
hand in my trowsers’ pocket. I seized it and held it fast. 

“ Now just let go my hand, will you ?” cried a lachry- 
mal voice. 

I jumped up — it was broad daylight, and looked at the 
human frame to which the hand was an appendix. It 
was a very spare, awkward built form of a young man, 
apparently about twenty years old, but without the least 
sign of manhood on his chin. His face was cadaverous, 
large goggling eyes, high cheek bones, hair long, remind- 
ing me of a rat’s nest, thin lips, and ears large almost as an 
elephant’s. A more wo-begone wretch in appearance I 
never beheld, and I continued to look at him with sur- 
prise. He repeated his words with an idiotical expres- 
sion, “ Just let go my hand, can’t you ?” 

“ What business had your hand in my pocket ?” replied 
I, angrily. 

“ I was feeling for my pocket-handkerchief,” replied 
the young man. “ I always keeps it in my breeches’ 
pocket.” 

“ But not in your neighbour’s, I presume ?” 

“ My neighbour’s !” replied he, with a vacant stare. 
“ Well, so it is ; I see now — I thought it was my own.” 

I released his hand ; he immediately put it into his own 
pocket, and drew out his handkerchief, if the rag deserved 
the appellation. ^ “ There,” said he, “ I told you I put it 
in that pocket — I always do.” 


56 . JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

“ And pray who are you ?” said I, as I looked at his 
dress, which was a pair of tight cotton drawers, and an 
old spangled jacket. 

“ Me ! why, I’m the fool.” 

“ More knave than fool, I expect,” replied I, still much 
puzzled with his strange appearance and dress. 

“ Nay, there you mistake,” said the voice of last night. 
“ He is not only a fool by profession, but one by nature. 
It is a half-witted creature who serves me when I would 
attract the people. Strange in this world, that wisdom 
may. cry in the streets without being noticed, yet folly 
will always command a crowd.” 

During this address I turned my eyes upon the speaker. 
He was an elderly looking person, with white hair, 
dressed in a suit of black -ruffles and frill. His eyes were 
brilliant, but the remainder of his face it was difficult to 
decipher, as it was evidently painted, and the night’s 
jumbling in the wagon had so smeared it, that it appeared 
of almost every colour in the rainbow. On one side of 
him lay a large three-cornered cocked hat, on the other a 
little lump of a boy, rolled up in the straw like a marmot, 
and still sound asleep. Timothy looked at me, and 
when he caught my eye, burst out into a laugh. 

“You laugh at my appearance, I presume,” said the 
old man, mildly. 

“ I do in truth,” replied Timothy. “ I never saw one 
like you before, and I dare say never shall again.” 

“ That is possible ; yet probably if you meet me again, 
you would not know me.” 

“ Among a hundred thousand,” replied Timothy, with 
increased mirth. 

“ We shall see, perhaps,” replied the quack doctor, for 
such the reader must have already ascertained to be his 
profession; “but the wagon has stopped, and the driver 
will bait his horses : if inclined to eat, now is your 
time. Come, Jumbo, get up ; Philotas, waken him, and 
follow me.” 

Philotas, for so was the fool styled by his master, 
turned up some straw, and stuffed the end of it into Jum- 
bo’s mouth. “ Now Jumbo will think he has got some- 
thing to eat. I always wake him that way,” observed the 
fool, grinning at us. 


OF A FATHER. 


57 

It certainly, as might be expected, did waken Jumbo, 
who uncoiled himself, rubbed his eyes, stared at the cover 
of the wagon, then at us, and without saying a word, 
rolled himself out of the wagon after the fool. Timothy 
and I followed. We found the doctor bargaining for 
some bread and bacon, his strange appearance exciting 
much amusement, and inducing the people to let him have 
a better bargain than perhaps otherwise they would have 
done. He gave a part of the refreshment to the boy and 
the fool, and walked out of the taproom with his own 
share. Timothy and I went to the pump, and had a good 
refreshing wash, and then for a shilling were permitted to 
make a very hearty breakfast. The wagon having re- 
mained about an hour, the driver gave us notice of his 
departure ; but the doctor was nowhere to be found. 
After a little delay, the wagoner drove off, cursing him for 
a bilk, and vowdng that he’d never have any more to do 
with a “ lamed man.” In the mean time, Timothy and I 
had taken our seats in the wagon, in company with the 
fool, and Master Jumbo. We commenced a conversation 
with the former, and soon found out, as the doctor had as- 
serted, that he really was an idiot, so much so, that it 
was painful to converse with him. As for the latter, he 
had coiled himself away to take a little more sleep. I for- 
got to mention, that the boy was dressed much in the 
same way as the fool, in an old spangled jacket, and white 
trowsers. For about an hour Timothy and I conversed, 
remarking upon the strange disappearance of the doctor, 
especially as he had given us hopes of employing us ; in 
accepting which offer, if ever it should be made, we had 
not made up our minds, when we were interrupted with a 
voice crying out, “ Hillo, my man, can you give a chap a 
lift as far as Reading, for a shilling?” 

“ Ay, get up, and M^elcome,” replied the wagoner. 

^ The wagon did not stop, but in a moment or two the 
new passenger climbed in. He was dressed in a clean 
smock frock, neatly worked up the front, leather gaiters, 
and stout shoes ; a bundle and a stick were in his hand. 
He smiled as he looked round upon the company, and 
showed a beautiful set of small white teeth. His face was 
dark, and sun-burnt, but very handsome, and his eyes as 
black as coals, and as briliiant as gas. “ Heh ! player 
folk — I’ve a notion,” said he, as he sat down, looking at 


58 JAPIIET, IN SEARCH 

the doctor’s attendants, and laughing at us. “ Have you 
come far, gentlemen?” continued he. 

“ From London,” was my reply. 

“ IIow do the crops look up above ? for down here the 
turnips seem to have failed altogether. Dry seasons won’t 
do for turnips.” 

I replied that I really could not satisfy him on that 
point, as it was dark when we passed. 

“ Very true — I had forgotten that,” replied he. “ How- 
ever, the barleys look well ; but perhaps you don’t under- 
stand farming?” 

I replied in the negative, and the conversation was kept 
up for two Or three hours, in the course of which I men- 
tioned the quack doctor, and his strange departure. 

“ That is the fellow' who cured so many people at ,” 

replied he ; and the conversation then turned upon his 
profession and mode of life, which Timothy and I agreed 
must be very amusing. “We shall meet him again, I 
dare say,” replied the man. “ Would you know him ?” 

“I think so, indeed,” replied Timothy, laughing. 

“ Yes, and so you would think that you would know a 
guinea from a halfpenny, if I put it into your hands,” re- 
plied the man. “ I do not wish to lay a bet, and win your 
money ; but I tell you, that I .will put either one or the 
other into each of your hands, and if you hold it fast for 
one minute, and shut your eyes during that time, you will 
not be able to tell me which it is that you have in it.” 

“ That I am sure I would,” replied Tim ; and I made 
the same assertion. 

“ Well, I was taken in that way at a fair, and lost ten 
shillings, by the wager ; now, we’ll try whether you can 
tell or not.” He took out some money from his pocket, 
selected without our seeing, put a coin into the hand of 
each of us, closing our fists over it, “ and now,” said he, 
“ keep your eyes shut for a minute.” 

W e did so, and a second or two afterwards we heard a 
voice which we instantly recognised. “ Nay, but it was 
wrong to leave me on the way side thus, having agreed to 
pay the sum demanded. At my age one walketh not with- 
out fatigue, ‘ Excipenda tamen qusedam su7it urhium' 
as Philostratus says, meaning, ‘ that old limbs lose their 
activity, and seek the help of » crutch.” 

“ There’s the doctor,” cried Timothy, with his eyes 
still shut. 


OP A FATHER. 59 

“ Now open your eyes,” said the man, “ and tell me, 
before you open your hand, what there is in it.” 

“ A halfpenny in mine,” said Tim. 

“ A guinea in mine,” replied I. 

AVe opened our hands, and they were empty, 

“ Where the devil is it ?” exclaimed I, looking at Tim. 

“ And where the devil’s the doctor ?” replied he, looking 
round. 

“ The money is in the doctor’s pocket,” replied the 
man, smiling. 

“ Then where is the doctor’s pocket?” 

“ Here,” replied he, slapping his pocket, and looking 
significantly at us. “ I thought you were certain of 
knowing him again? About as certain as you were of 
telling the money in your hand.” 

He then, to our astonishment, imitated the doctor’s 
voice, and quoted prosody, syntax, and Latin, Timothy 
and I were still in astonishment^ when he continued, “ If I 
had not found out that you were in want of employ, and 
further, that your services would be useful to me, I should 
not have made this discovery. Do you now think that 
you know enough to enter into my service ? It is light 
work, and not bad pay ; and now you may choose.” 

“ I trust,” said 1, “ that there is no dishonesty?” 

“ None that you need practise, if you are so scru- 
pulous ; perhaps your scruples may some day be removed. 
I make the most of my wares — every merchant does the 
same. I practise upon the folly of mankind — it is on that, 
that wise men live.” 

Timothy gave me a push, and nodded his head for me 
to give my consent. I reflected a few seconds, and at last 
I extended my hand. “ I consent,” replied I, “ with the 
reservation I have made.”- 

“ You will not repent,” said he; “ and I will take your 
companion, not that I want him particularly, but I do want 
you. The fact is, I want a lad of gentlemanly address 
and handsome appearance — with the very knowledge you 
possess — and now we will say no more for the present. 
By-the-by, was that real Latin of yours ?” 

“No,” replied I, laughing; “you quoted the gram- 
mar, and I replied with medical prescriptions. One was 
as good as the other.” 

“ Quite — nay, better ; for the school-boys may find me 


60 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

out, but not you. But now observe, when we come to the 
next cross road, we must get down — at least, I expect so ; 
but we shall know in a minute.” 

In about the time he mentioned, a dark, gipsy-looking 
man looked into the wagon, and spoke to our acquaintance 
in an unknown language. He replied in the same, and the 
man disappeared. We continued our route for about a 
quarter of an hour, when he got out, asked us to follow 
him, and speaking a few words to the fool, which I did 
not hear, left him and the boy in the wagon. We paid 
our fare, took possession of our bundles, and followed our 
new companion for a few minutes on the cross road, when 
he stopped, and said, “ I must now leave you, to prepare 
for your reception into our fraternity ; continue straight 
on this road until you arrive at a lime-kiln, and wait there 
till I come.” 

He sprang over a stile, and took a direction verging at 
an angle from the road, forced his way through a hedge, 
and disappeared from our sight. “ Upon my word, Timo- 
thy,” said I, “ I hardly know what to say to this. Have 
we done right in trusting to this man, who I am afraid is a 
great rogue ? I do not much like mixing with these gipsy 
people, for such I am sure he belongs to.” 

“ I really do not see how we can do better,” replied 
Timothy. “The world is all before us, and we must 
force our own way through it. As for his being a quack 
doctor, I see no great harm in that. People put their 
faith in nostrums more than they do in regular medicines ; 
and it is well known that quack medicines, as they call 
them, cure as often as others merely for that very reason.” 

“ Very true, Timothy ; the mind once at ease, the body 
soon recovers, and faith even in quack medicines will 
often make people whole ; but do you think that he does 
no more than impose upon people in that way ?” 

“ He may, or he may not ; at all events, we need do no 
more, I suppose.” 

“lam not sure of that ; however, we shall see. He 
says we may be useful to him, and I suppose we shall be, 
or he would not have engaged us — we shall soon find 
out.” 

By this time we had arrived at the lime-kiln to which 
we had been directed', and we sat down on our bundles, 
chatting, for about five minutes, when our new acquaint- 


OP A FATHER. 


.61 

ance made his appearance, with something in his hand, 
tied up in a handkerchief. 

“ You may as well put your coats into your bundles, and 
put on these frocks,” said he ; “ you will appear better 
among us, and be better received, for there is a gathering 
now, and some of them are queer customers. However, 
you have nothing to fear ; when once you are with my 
wife and me, you are quite safe ; her little finger would 
protect you from five hundred.” 

“ Your wife ! who, then, is she ?” inquired I, as I put 
my head through the smock frock. 

“ She is a great personage among the gipsies. She is, 
by descent, one of the heads of the tribe, and none dare to 
disobey her.” 

“ And you — are you a gipsy ?” 

“ No, and yes. By birth I am not, but by choice, and 
marriage, I am admitted ; but I was not born under a hedge 
I can assure you, although I very often pass a night there 
now— that is, when I am domestic; but do not think that 
you are to remain long here ; we shall leave in a' few days, 
and may not meet the tribe again for months, although you 
may see my own family occasionally. I did not ask you 
to join me to pass a gipsy’s life — no, no, we must be stir^* 
ring and active. Come, we are now close to them. Do 
not speak as you pass the huts, until you have entered 
mine. Then you may do as you please.” 

, We turned short round, passed through a gap in the 
hedge, and found ourselves on a small retired piece of com- 
mon, which was studded with about twenty or thirty low 
gipsy huts. The fires were alight, and provisions appa- 
rently cooking. We passed by nine or ten, and obeyed 
our guide’s injunctions to keep silence. At last we stop- 
ped, and perceived ourselves to be standing by the fool, 
who was dressed like us, in a smock frock, and Mr. Jum- 
bo, who was very busy making the pot boil, blowing at 
the sticks underneath till he was black in the face. Seve- 
ral of the men passed near us, and examined us with no 
very pleasant expression of countenance ; and we were 
not sorry to see our conductor, who had gone into the hut, 
return, followed by a woman, to whom he was speaking in 
the language of the tribe. “ Nattee bids you welcome,” 
said he, as she approached. 

Never in my life will the remembrance of the first ap- 
VOL. I. F 


62 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

pearance of Nattee, and the effect it had, be erased from 
my memory. She was tall ; too tall, had it not been for 
the perfect symmetry of her form. Her face of a clear olive, 
and oval in shape ; her eyes jetty black ; nose straight, 
and beautifully chiselled ; mouth small, thin lips, with a 
slight curl of disdain, and pearly teeth. I never beheld a 
woman of so commanding a presence. Her feet were 
bare, but very small, as well as her hands. On her fingers 
she wore many rings, of a curious old setting, and a piece 
of gold hung on her forehead, where the hair was parted. 
She looked at us, touched her high forehead with the ends 
of her fingers, and waving her hand gracefully, said, in a 
soft voice, “ You are welcome,” and then turned to her 
husband, speaking to him in her own language, until by 
degrees they separated from us in earnest conversation. 

She returned to us after a short time, without her hus- 
band, and said, in a voice, the notes of which were indeed 
soft, but the delivery of the words was most determined : 
“ I have said that you are welcome ; sit down, therefore, 
and share with us — fear nothing, you have no cause to fear. 
Be faithful, then, while you serve him, and when you 
would quit us, say so, and receive your leave to depart : 
but if you attempt to desert us without permission, then 
we shall suspect that you are our enemies, and treat you 
accordingly. There is your lodging while here,” conti- 
nued she, pointing to another hut. “ There is butone child 
with you, this boy, (pointing to Jumbo,) who can lay at 
your feet. And now join us as friends. Fleta, where are 
you ?” 

A soft voice answered from the tent of Nattee, and soon 
afterwards came out a little girl, of about eleven years old. 
The appearance of this child was a new source of interest. 
She was a little fairy figure, with a skin as white as the 
driven snow — light auburn hair, and large blue eyes ; her 
dress was scanty, and showed a large portion of her taper 
legs. She hastened to Nattee, and folding her arms across 
her breast, stood still, saying meekly, “ I am here.” 

“ Know these as friends, Fleta. Send that lazy Num 
(this was Philotas, tlite fool) for more wood, and see that 
Jumbo tends the fire.” 

Nattee smiled, and left us. I observed she went to where 
forty or fifty of the tribe were assembled, in earnest dis- 
course. She took her seat with them, and marked defer- 


OF A FATHER. 


63 


ence was paid to her. In the mean time Jumbo had blown 
up a brisk fire ; we were employed by Fleta in shredding 
vegetables, which she threw into the boiling kettle. Num 
appeared with more fuel, and at last there was nothing 
more to do. Fleta sat down by us, and parting her long 
hair, which had fallen over her eyes, looked us both in the 
face. 

“ Who gave you that name, Fleta ?” inquired I. 

“ They gave it me,” replied she. 

“And who are they ?” 

“ Nattee, and Melchior, her husband.” 

“ But you are not their daughter?” 

“ No, I am not — that is — I believe not.” 

The little girl stopped short as if assured that she had 
said too much, cast her eyes down on the ground, and 
folded her arms, so that her hands rested on each opposite 
shoulder. 

Timothy whispered to m©, “ She must have boon stolen, 
depend upon it.” 

“ Silence,” said I. 

J'he little girl overheard him, and looking at him, put 
her finger across her mouth, looking to where Num and 
Jumbo were setting. I felt an interest for this child be- 
fore I had been an hour in her company ; she was so grace- 
ful, so beautifully feminine, so mournful in the expression 
of her countenance. That she was under restraint was 
evident ; but still she did not appear to be actuated by fear. 
Nattee was very kind to her, and the child did not seem 
to be more reserved towards her than to others ; her 
mournful, pensive look was perhaps inherent to her na- 
ture. It was not until long after our first acquaintance 
that I ever saw a smile upon her features. Shortly after 
this little conversation* Nattee returned, walking with all^ 
the grace and dignity of a queen. Her husband, or Mel- 
chior, as I shall for the present call him, soon joined us, 
and we sat down to our repast, which was excellent. It 
was composed of almost every thing ; sometimes I found 
myself busy with the wing of a fowl, at another the leg of 
a rabbit — then apiece of mutton, and other flesh and fowl, 
which I could hardly distinguish. To these were added 
every sort of vegetable, in which potatoes predominated, 
forming a sort of stew, which an epicure might have 
praised. I had a long conversation with Melchior in the 


64 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

evening, and, not to weary the reader, I shall now proceed 
to state all that I then and subsequently gathered from him 
and others, relative to the parties with whom we were as- 
sociating. 

Melchior would not state who and what he was previ- 
ous to his having joined the fraternity of gipsies; that he 
was not of humble birth, and that he had, when young, 
quitted his friends out of love for Nattee, or from some 
other causes not to be revealed, he also acknowledged. 
He had been many years in company with the tribe, and 
although, as one received into it, he did not stand so higli 
in rank and estimation as his wife, still, from his marriage 
with Nattee, and his own peculiar qualifications and dex- 
terity, he was almost as absolute as she was. 

Melchior and Nattee were supposed to be the most 
wealthy of all the gipsies, and, at the same lime, they 
were the most liberal of their wealth. Melchior, it ap- 
peared, gained money in three different characters ; as a 
doctor, the character in which we first saw him ; secondly, 
as a juggler, in which art he was most expert; and third- 
ly, as a fortune-teller, and wise man. 

Nattee, as I before mentioned, was of very high rank, 
or caste, in her tribe. At her first espousal of Melchior 
she lost much of her influence, as it was considered a de- 
gradation ; but she was then very young, and must have 
been most beautiful. The talents of Melchior, and her 
own spirit, however, soon enabled her to regain, and even 
add still more to, her power and consideration among the 
tribe ; and it was incredible to w^hat extent, with the means 
which she possessed, this power was augmented. 

Melchior had no children by his marriage, and, as far 
as I could judge from the few words which would escape 
from the lips of Nattee, she did not wish for any, as the 
race would not be considered pure. The subdivision of 
the tribe which followed Nattee, consisted of about forty 
men, women, and children. These were ruled by her 
during the absence of her husband, who alternately as- 
sumed different characters, as suited his purpose : but in 
whatever town Melchior might happen to be, Nattee and 
her tribe were never far off, and always encamped within 
communication. 

I ventured to question Melchior about the little Fleta ; 
and he stated that she was the child of a soldier’a wife. 


OP A- FATHER. 


65 


who had been brought to bed, and died a few hours after- 
wards ; that, at the time, she was on her way to join her 
husband, and had been taken ill on the road — had been as- 
sisted by Nattee and her companions, as far as they were 
able — had been buried by them, and that the child had 
been reared in the camp. 

In time the little girl became very intimate, and very 
partial to me. I questioned her as to her birth, telling her 
what Melchior had stated ; for a long while she would not 
answer ; the poor child had learned caution even at that 
early age ; but after we were more intimate, she said, that 
which Melchior had stated was not true. She could recol- 
lect very well living in a great house, with every thing 
very fine about her ; but still it appeared as if it were a 
dream. She recollected two white ponies — and a lady, 
who was her mamma — and a mulberry tree, where she 
stained her frock; sometimes other things came to her 
memory, and then she forgot them again. From this it 
was evident that she had been stolen, and was probably of 
good parentage ; certainly, if elegance and symmetry of 
person and form could prove blood, it never was more 
marked than in this interesting child. Her abode with the 
gipsies, and their peculiar mode of life and manners, had 
rendered her peculiarly precocious in intellect; but of 
education she had none, except what was instilled into 
her by Melchior, whom she always accompanied when he 
assumed his character as a juggler. She then danced on 
the slack wire, at the same time performing several feats 
in balancing, throwing of oranges, &e. When Melchior 
■ was under other disguises, she remained in the camp with 
Nattee. 

Of Num, or Philotas, as Melchior thought proper to 
call him, I have already spoken. He was a half-witted 
idiot, picked up in one of Melchior’s excursions, and as 
he stated to me, so did it prove to be the fact, that when on 
the stage, and questioned as a fool, his natural folly, and 
idiotical vacancy of countenance, were applauded by the 
spectators as admirably assumed. Even at the alehouses 
and taverns where we stopped, every one imagined that all 
his folly was pretence, and looked upon him as a very cle- 
ver fellow. There never was, perhaps, such a lachrymose 
countenance as this poor lad’s, and this added still more to 
the mirth of others, being also considered as put on for the 
F 2 


66 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

occasion. Stephen Kemble played Falstaff without stuff- 
ing — Num played the fool witihout any effort or prepara- 
tion. Jumbo was also “picked up this was not done 
by Melchior, who stated, that any body might have him 
who claimed him ; he tumbled with the fool upon the 
stage, and he also ate pudding to amuse the spectators — 
the only part of the performance which was suited to Jum- 
bo’s taste, for he was a terrible little glutton, and never 
lost any opportunity of eating, as well as of sleeping. 

And now, having described all our new companions, I 
must narrate what passed between Melchior and me, the 
day after our joining the camp. He first ran through his 
various professions, pointing out to me that, as juggler, he 
required a confederate, in which capacity I might be very 
useful, as he would soon instruct me in all his tricks. As 
a quack doctor he wanted the services of both Tim and 
myself in mixing up, making pills, &;c., and also in assist- 
ing him in persuading the public of his great skill. As a 
fortune-teller, I should also be of great service, as he would 
explain to me hereafter. In short, he wanted a person of 
good personal appearance and education, in whom he might 
confide in every way. As to Tim, he might be made 
useful, if he chose, in various ways ; amongst others, he 
wished him to learn tumbling and playing the fool, when, 
at times, the fool was required to give a shrewd answer on 
any point on which he would wish the public to be made 
acquainted. I agreed to my own part of the performance, 
and then had some conversation with Timothy, who imme- 
diately consented to do his best in what was allotted as his 
share, ^hus was the matter quickly arranged, Melchior 
observing, that he had said nothing about remuneration, as 
I should find that trusting to him was far preferable to sti- 
pulated wages. 

W e had been three days in the camp when the gathering 
was broken up, each gang taking their own way. What 
the meeting was about I could not exactly discover ; one 
occasion of it was to make arrangements relative to the dif- 
ferent counties in which the subdivisions were to sojourn 
during the next year, so that they might know where to com- 
municate with each other, and at the same time not interfere 
by being too near ; but there were many other points dis- 
cussed, of which, as a stranger, I was kept in ignorance. 
Melchior answered all my questions with apparent candour 


or A FATHER. 67 

but his habitual deceit was such, that whether he told the 
truth or not was impossible to be ascertained by his coun- 
tenance. When the gathering dispersed, we packed up, 
and located ourselves about two miles from the common, 
on the borders of a forest of oak and ash. Our food was 
chiefly game, for we had some excellent poachers among 
us ; and as for fish, it appeared to be at their command ; 
there was not a pond or a pit but they could tell in a mo- 
ment if it was tenanted ; and if tenanted, in half an hour 
every fish would be floating on the top of the water, by 
the throwing in of some intoxicating sort of berry. Other 
articles of food occasionally were found in the caldron ; in- 
deed, it was impossible to fare better than we did, or at less 
expense. Our tents were generally pitched not far from a 
pool of water, and to avoid any unpleasant search, which 
sometimes would take place, every thing liable to detection 
was sunk under the water until it was required for cook- 
ing ; once in the pot, it was considered as safe. But with 
the foraging, Timothy and I had nothing to do ; we par- 
ticipated in the eating, without asking any questions as to 
how it was procured. My time was chiefly spent in com- 
pany with Melchoir, who initiated me into all the myste- 
ries of cups and balls — juggling of every description — feats 
with cards, and made me acquainted with all his apparatus 
for prepared tricks. For hours and hours was I employed 
by his directions in what is called “ making the pass” with 
a pack of cards, as almost all tricks on cards depend upon 
your dexterity in this manoBuvre. In about a month I was 
considered as a very fair adept ; in the mean time, Timothy 
had to undergo his career of gymnastics, and was to be 
seen all day tumbling and retumbling, until he could tum- 
ble on his feet again. Light and active, he soon became a 
very dexterous performer, and could throw a somerset 
either backwards or forwards, walk on his hands, eat fire, 
pull out ribbons, and do fifty other tricks to amuse a gaping 
audience. Jumbo also was worked hard, to bring down his 
fat, and never was allowed his dinner until he had given 
satisfaction to Melchoir. Even little Fleta had to practice 
occasionally, as we were preparing for an expedition. Mel- 
choir, who appeared determined to create an effect, left us 
for three days, and returned with not only new dresses for 
Timothy and me, but also new dresses for the rest of the 
company; and shortly afterwards, bidding farewell to NaV 


68 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

tee and the rest of the gipsies, we all set out — that is, Mel- 
choir, I, Timothy, Fleta, Num, and Jumbo. Late in the 

evening we arrived at the little town of , and took up 

our quarters at a public-house, with the landlord of which 
Melchoir had already made arrangements. 

“ Well, Timothy,” said I, as soon as we were in bed, 
“ how do you like our new life and prospects ?” 

“ I like it better than Mr. Cophagus’s rudimans, and 
carrying out physic, at all events. But how does your 
dignity like turning Merry Andrew, Japhet?” 

“ To tell you the truth I do not dislike it. There is a 
wildness and devil-may-care feeling connected with it 
which is grateful to me at present. How long it may last 
I cannot tell ; but for a year or two it appears to me that 
we may be very happy. At all events, we shall see the 
world, and have more than one profession to fall back 
upon.” 

“ That is true ; but there is one thing which annoys me, 
Japhet, which is, we may have difficulty in leaving these 
people when we wish. Besides, you forget that you are 
losing sight of the principal object you had in view, that is, 
of ‘ finding out your father.’ ” 

“ I certainly never expect to find him among the gipsies,” 
replied I, “ for children are at a premium with them. They 
steal from others, and are not very likely therefore to leave 
them at the Foundling. But I do not know whether I have 
not as good a chance in our present employment as in any 
other. I have often been thinking that as fortune-tellers, 
we may get hold of many strange secrets ; however, we 
shall see. Melchoir says, that he intends to appear in that 
character as soon as he has made a harvest in his present.” 

“ What do you think of Melchoir, now that you Imve 
been so much with him ?” 

“I think him an unprincipled man, but still with many 
good qualities. He appears to have a pleasure in deceit, 
and to have waged war with the world in general. Still he 
is generous, and, to a certain degree, confiding; kind in his 
disposition, and apparently a very good husband. There 
is something on his mind which weighs him down occa- 
sionally, and checks him in the height of his mirth. It 
comes over him like a dark cloud over a bright summer 
sun ; and he is all gloom for a few minutes. I do not 
think that he would now commit any great crime ; but I 


OP A FATHER. 


69 


I 

have a suspicion that he has done something which is a 
constant cause of remorse.” 

“ You are a very good judge of character, Japhet. But 
what a dear little child is that Fleta ! She may exclaim 
with you — Who is my father ?” 

“ Yes, we are both in much the same predicament, and 
that it is which I believe has so much increased my attach- 
ment to her. We are brother and sister in misfortune, and 
a sister she ever shall be to me, if such is the will of Hea- 
ven. But we must rise early to-morrow, Tim ; so good 
night.” 

“ Yes, to-morrow it will be juggle and tumble — eat fire 
— um — and so on, as Mr. Cophagus would have said ; so 
good night, Japhet.” 

The next morning we arrayed ourselves in our new ha- 
biliments ; mine were silk stockings, shoes, and white ker- 
seymere knee breeches, a blue silk waistcoat loaded with 
tinsel, and a short jacket to correspond, of blue velvet, a.' 
sash round my waist, a hat and plume of feathers. Timo- 
thy declared I looked very handsome, and as the glass said 
the same as plain as it could speak, I believed him. Timo- 
thy’s dress was a pair of wide Turkish trowsers and red 
jacket, with spangles. The others were much the same. 
Fleta was attired in small, white satin, Turkish trowsers, 
blue muslin and silver embroidered frock, worked sandals, 
and her hair braided and plaited in long tails behind, and 
she looked like a sylph. Melchoir’s dress was precisely 
the same as mine, and a more respectable company was 
seldom seen. Some musicians had been hired, and hand- 
bills were now circulated all over the town, stating that 
Mr. Eugenio Volette, with his company, would have the 
honour of performing before the nobility and gentry. The 
bill contained the fare which was to be provided, and inti- 
mated the hour of the performance, and the prices to be 
paid for the seats. The performance was to take place in 
a very large room attached to the inn, which, previous to 
the decadence of the town, had been used as an assembly- 
room. A platform was erected on the outside, on which 
were placed the musicians, and where we all occasionally 
made our appearance in our splendid dresses to attract the 
wonder of the people. There we strutted up and down, all 
but poor little Fleta, who appeared to shrink at the display 
from intuitive modesty. When the music ceased, a smart 


70 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

parley between Melchoir and me, and Philotas and Timo- 
thy, as the two fools, would take place ; and Melchoir 
declared after the performance was over, that we conduct- 
ed ourselves to admiration. 

“ Pray, Mr. Philotas, do me the favour to tell me how 
many people you think are now present ?” said Melchoir 
to Num, in an imperative voice. 

“ I don’t know,” said Num, looking up with his idioti- 
cal, melancholy face. 

“Ha! ha! ha!” roared the crowd at Num’s stupid 
answer. 

“The fellow’s a fool!” said Melchoir to the gaping 
audience. 

“.Well, then, if he can’t tell, perhaps you may, Mr. 
Dionysius,” said I, addressing Tim. 

“ How many sir ? Do you want to know exactly and 
directly?” 

“ Yes, sir, immediately.” 

“ Without counting, sir ?” 

“Yes, sir, without counting.” 

“Well then, sir, I will tell, and make no mistake; 
there’s exactly as many again as half,'' 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha !” from the crowd. 

“ That won’t do, sir. How many may be the half?” 

“ How many may be the half? Do you know yourself, 
sir?” 

“ Yes, sir, to be sure I do.” 

“ Then there ’s no occasion for me to tell you.” 

“Ha! ha! ha!” 

“Well then, sir,” continued Melchoir, to Philotas, 
“ perhaps you’ll tell how many ladies and gentlemen we 
may expect to honour us with their company to-night.” 

‘ How many, sir ?” 

“ Yes, sir, how many.” 

“ Pm sure I don’t know,” said Num after a pause. 

“ Positively you are the greatest fool I ever met with,” 
said Melchoir. 

“ Well, he does act the fool as natural as life,” observed 
the crowd. “ What a stupid face he does put on !” 

“ Perhaps you will be able to answer that question, Mr. 
Dionysius,” said I to Tim. 

“ Yes, sir, I know exactly.” 

“ Well, sir, let’s hear.” 


OP A FATHER. 


- “ In the first place, all the pretty women will come, and 
all the ugly ones stay away ; and as for the men, all those 
who have got any money will be certain to come ; those 
who hav’n’t, poor devils, must stay outside.” 

“ Suppose, sir, you make a bow to the ladies.” 

“ A very low one, sir ?” 

“Yes, very low indeed.” 

Tim bent his body to the ground, and threw a somerset 
forward. 

“ There, sir, I bowed so low, that I came up on the 
other side.” 

“ Ha ! ha! capital !” from the crowd. 

“ I’ve got a round turn in my back, sir,” continued Tim, 
rubbing himself. “ Hadn’t I better take it out again ?” 

“By all means.” 

Tim threw a somerset backwards. “ There, sir, 
all’s right now. One good turn deserves another. Now 
I’ll be off.” 

“ Where are you going to, sir?” 

“ Going, sir ! Why, I left my lollipop in the tinder-box, 
and I’m going to fetch it.” 

“Ha! ha! ha!” 

“ Strike up, music !” and Master Jumbo commenced 
tumbling. 

Such was the elegant wit with which we amused and 
attracted the audience. Perhaps, had we been more refin- 
ed, we should not have been so successful. 

That evening we had the room as full as it could hold. 
Mr. Velotte alias Melchoir astonished them. The cards 
appeared to obey his commands — rings were discovered in 
ladies’ shoes — watches were powdered and made whole — 
canary birds flew out of eggs. The audience were delight- 
ed. The entertainment closed with Fleta’s performance on 
the slack wire ; and certainly never was there any thing’ 
more beautiful and graceful. Balanced on the wire in a 
continual, waving motion, her eyes fixed upon a point to 
enable her to maintain her position, she performed several 
feats, such as the playing with five oranges, balancing 
swords, &:c. Her extreme beauty — her very picturesque 
and becoming dress — her mournful expression and down- 
cast eyes — her gentle manner, appeared to win the hearts 
of the audience ; and when she was assisted off from 


72 ' JAPHET, m SEARCH 

her perilous situation by Melclioir and me, and made 
her graceful courtsey, the plaudits were unanimous. 

When the company dispersed I went to her, intending 
to praise her, but I found her in tears. “ What is the mat- 
ter, my dear Fleta ?” ^ 

“ O nothing ! don’t say I have been crying — but I can- 
not bear it — so many people looking at me. Don’t say a 
word to Melchoir — I won’t cry any more.” 

“ I kissed and consoled her ; she threw her arms round 
my neck, and remained there with her face hid for some 
time. We then joined the others at supper. Melchoir 
was much pleased with our success, and highly praised 
the conduct of Timothy and myself, which he pronounced, 
for the first attempt, far beyond his expectations. 

We continued to astonish all the good people of 

for five days, when we discovered the indubitable fact, that 
there was no more money to be extracted from their pock- 
ets, upon which we resumed our usual clothes and smock 
frocks, and with our bundles in our hands, set off for 
another market town, about fifteen miles distant. There 
we were equally successful, and Melchoir was delighted 
with our having proved such a powerful acquisition to his 
troop; but not to dwell too long upon one subject, I shall 
inform the reader, that after a trip of six weeks, during 
which we were very well received, we once 'more returned 
to the camp which had located within five miles of our last 
scene of action. Every one was content — we were all glad 
to get back and rest from our labours. Melchoir was pleas- 
ed with his profits, poor little Fleta overjoyed to be once 
more in the seclusion of her tent, and Nattee very glad to 
hear of our good fortune, and to see her husband. Timo- 
thy and I had already proved ourselves so useful, that Mel- 
choir treated us with the greatest friendship and confi- 
dence — and he made us a present out of the gains, for our 
exertions ; to me he gave ten, and to Timothy five, 
pounds. 

“ There, Japhet, had you hired yourself I should not 
have paid you more than. seven shillings per week, finding 
you in food ; but you must acknowledge that for six weeks 
that is not bad pay. However your earnings will depend 
upon our success, and I rather think that we shall make a 
much better thing of it when next we start, which will be 


’ OP A FATHER. 73 

in about a fortnight ; but we have some arrangements to 
make. Has Timothy a good memory?” 

“ I think he has.” 

“ That is well. I told you before that we are^to try the 
‘ Wise Man,’ — but first we must have Nattee in play. To- 
morrow we will start for ,” mentioning a small 

quiet town about four miles off. 

’ We did so, early the next morning, and arrived about 
noon, pitching our tents on the common, not far from the 
town ; but in this instance we left all the rest of our gang 
behind. Melchoir’s own party and his two tents were all 
that were brought by the donkies. ^ 

Melchoir and .1, dressed as countrymen, went into the 
town at dusk, and entered a respectable sort of inn, taking 
our seats at one of the tables in the tap-room, and, as we 
had already planned, after we had called for beer, com- 
menced a conversation in the hearing of the others who 
were sitting drinking "and smoking. 

“ Well, I never will believe it — it’s all cheat and trick-' 
ery,” said Melchoir, “ and they only do it to pick your 
pocket. Tell your fortune indeed ! I suppose she pro- 
mised you a rich wife and half a dozen children.” 

“No, she did not,” replied I, “for I am too young to 
marry ; but she told me what I know has happened.” 

“ Well, what was that ?” 

' “ Why, she told me that my mother had married again, 
and turned me out of doors to work for my bread.” 

“ But she might have heard that.” 

“How could she ? No, that’s not possible; but she 
told me I had a mole on my knee, which was a sign of 
luck. 'Now how could she know that?” 

“ Well, I grant that was odd — and pray what else did 
she promise you ?” 

“ Why, she said, that I should meet with my dearest 
friend to-night. Now that does puzzle me, for I have but 
one in the world, and he is a long way off.” 

“ Well, if you do meet your friend, then I’ll believe her ; 
but' if not, it has been all guess-work ; and pray what did 
you pay for all this — was it a shilling, or did she pick 
your pocket ?” 

“ That’s what puzzles me, — she refused to take any 
thing. I offered it again and again, and she said, ‘ No ; that 
she would have no money ; that her gift was not to be sold.’ ” 
VoL. I. - G 


74 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

“ Well, that IS odd. Do you hear what this young man 
says,” said Melchoir addressing the others, who had swal- 
lowed every word. 

^ “ Yes,” replied one ; “ but who is this person ?” 

“ The queen of the gipsiej?, I am told. I never saw' 
such a wonderful woman in my life — her eye goes right 
through you. I met her on the common, and as she pass- 
ed she dropped a handkerchief. I ran back to give it her, 
and then she thanked me, and said, ‘ Open your hand and 
let me see the palm. Here are great lines, and you will be 
fortunate and then she told me a great deal more, and bid 
God bless me.” 

“ Then if she said that, she cannot have dealings with 
the devil ” observed Melchoir. 

“ Very odd — very strange — take no money — queen of 
the gipsies,” was echoed from all sides. 

The landlady and the bar-maid listened wnth wonder, 
when who should come in, as previously agreed, but Tim- 
othy. I pretended not to see him, but he came up to me, 
seizing me by the hand, and shaking it with apparent de- 
light, and crying, “ Wilson, have you forgot Smith ?” 

“ Smith !” cried I, looking earnestly in his face. “Why 
so it is. How came you here ?” 

“ I left Dublin three days ago,” replied he, “ but how I 
came here, into this house, is one of the strangest things 
that ever occurred. I was walking over the common, 
when a tall handsome Avoman looked at me, and said, 
‘Young man, if you will go into the third public house 
you pass, you will meet an old friend, who expects you.’ 

I thought she was laughing at me, but as it mattered very 
little in which house 1 passed the night, I thought for the 
fun of tlie thing, I might as well take her advice.” 

“ How strange !” cried Melchoir, “ and shb told him the 
same — that is, he would meet a friend.” ; 

“ Strange, very strange ! wonderful! astonishing !”• was 
echoed from all quarters, and the fame of the gipsy was 
already established. 

Timothy and I sat down together, conversing as old 
friends, and Melchoir went about from one to the other, 
narrating the wonderful occurrence till past midnight, when 
we all three took beds at the inn as if we Avere travellers. 

The report Avhich we had circulated that evening in- 
duced many people to go out to see Nattee, who appeared to 


OF A FATHER. 


75 


take no notice of them ; and when asked to tell fortunes, 
waved them away with her hand. But, although this plan 
of Melchoir’s was for the first two or three days very ex- 
pedient, yet, as it was not intended to last, Timothy, who 
remained with rue at the inn, became very intimate with 
the bar-maid, and obtained from her most of the particulars 
of her life. I, also, from repeated conversations with the 
landlady, received information very important relative to 
herself, and many of the families in the town ; but as the 
employment of Nattee was for an ulterior object, we con- 
tented ourselves with gaining all the information we could, 
before we proceeded further. After we had been there a 
week, and the fame of the gipsy woman had been marvellous- 
ly increased, many things having been asserted of her which 
were indeed truly improbable, Melchoir agreed that Timo- 
thy should persuade the bar-maid to try if the gipsy woman 
would tell her fortune. The girl, with some trepidation, 
agreed, but at the same time expecting to be refused, con- 
sented to walk with him over the common. Timothy ad- 
vised her to pretend to pick up a sixpence when near to 
Nattee, and ask her if it did not belong to her, and the 
bar-maid acted upon his suggestions, having just before 
that quitted the arm of Timothy, who had conducted her. 

“ Did you drop a sixpence ? I have picked up one,” 
said the girl, trembling with fear as she addressed Nattee. 

“ Child,” replied Nattee, who was prepared, “ I have 
neither dropped a sixpence, nor have you found one — but 
never mind that, I know that which you wish, and I know 
who you are. Now what would you with me ? Is it to 
inquire whether the landlord and landlady of the Golden 
Lion intend to keep you in their service ?” 

“ No,” replied the girl, frightened at what she heard ; 
“ not to inquire that, but to ask what my fortune will be ?” 

“ Open your palm, pretty maid, and I will tell you. 
Hah ! I see that you were born in the West — your father 
is dead — your mother is in service — and — let me see — 
you have a brother at §ea — now in the West Indies.” 

At this intelligence, all of which, as may be supposed, 
had been gathered by us, the poor girl was so frightened 
that she fell down in a swoon, and Timothy carried her off. 
When she was taken home to the inn, she was so ill that 
she was put into bed, and what she did say was so inco- 
herent, that, added to Timothy’s narrative, the astonish* 


76 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

ment of the landlady and others was beyond all bounds. 
I tried very hard to bring the landlady, but she would not 
consent; and now Nattee was pestered by people of high- 
er condition, who wished to hear what she would say. 
Here Nattee’s powers were brought into play. She would 
not refuse to see them, but would not give answers, till she 
had asked questions, and, as from us she had gleaned much 
general information, so by making this knowledge appear 
in her questions to them, she made them believe she knew 
more. If a young person came to her, she would immedi- 
ately ask the name : of that name she had all the references, 
acquired from us, as to family and connections. Bearing 
upon them she would ask a few more, and then give them 
an abrupt dismissal. 

This behaviour was put up with from one of her com- 
manding presence, who refused money, and treated those 
who accosted her, as if she was their superior. Many 
came again and again, telling her all they knew, and ac- 
quainting her with every transaction of their life to induce 
her to prophecy, for such she informed them was the surest 
way to call the spirit upon her. By these means we ob- 
tained the secret history of the major part, that is, the 

wealthier part of the town of ; and although the 

predictions of Nattee were seldom given, yet when given, 
they were given with such perfect and apparent knowledge 
of the parties, that when she left, which she did about 
six weeks after her first appearance, the whole town 
rang with accounts of her wonderful powers. 

It will appear strange that Melchoir would not permit 
Nattee to reap a harvest, which might have been great; 
but the fact was, that he only allowed the seed to be sown, 
that a greater harvest might be gathered hereafter. Nattee 
disappeared, the gipsies’ tent was no longer on the common, 
and the grass, which had been beaten down into a road by 
the feet of the frequent applicants to her, was again permit- 
ted to spring up. We also took our departure, and rejoin- 
ed the camp with Nattee, where we remained for a fort- 
night, to permit the remembrance of her to subside a little ; 
knowing that the appetite was alive, and would not be satis- 
fied until it was appeased. 

After that time Melchoir, Timothy, and I, again set oflf 

for the town of , and stopping at a superior inn, in 

another part of the town, dressed as travellers, that is, peo- 


OF A FATHER. 


77 


pie who go about the country for orders from the manufac- 
turers, ordered our beds and supper in the coffee-room. 
The conversation was soon turned upon the wonderful 
powers of Nattee the gipsy. “ Nonsense,” said Melchoir, 
“ she knows nothing. I have heard of her. But there is 
a man coming this way (should he happen to pass through 
this town) who will surprise and frighten you. No one 
knows who he is. He is named the Great Aristodemus. 
He knows the past, the present, and the future. He never 
looks at people’s hands — he only looks you in the face, 
and tvoe be to them who tell him a lie. Otherwise, he is 
good-tempered and obliging, and will tell Avhat will come 
to pass, and his predictions never have been known to 
fail. They say that he is hundreds of years old, and his 
hair is white as silver.” At this information many express- 
ed their doubts, and many others vaunted the powers of the 
gipsy. Melchoir replied, “ that all he knew was, that for 
the sum of two guineas paid down, he had told him of a 
legacy left him of six hundred pounds, which otherwise he 
would never have known of or received.” All the town 
of being quite alive for fortune-telling, this, new re- 

port gained wind, and after a week’s sojourn, Melchoir 
thought that the attempt should be made. 

We accordingly packed up, and departed to another 
market-town. Timothy, dressed in a sombre suit of black, 
very much like an undertaker, was provided with a horse, 
with the following directions : to proceed leisurely until 

he was within half a mile of the town of , and then 

to gallop in as fast as hd could, stop at the best inn in the 
place, and order apartments for the Great Aristodemus, who 
might be expected in half an hour. Every thing in this 
world depends upon appearances, that is, when you intend 
to gull it : and as every one in the town had heard of the 
Great Aristodemus, so every one was anxious to know, 
something about him, and Timothy was pestered with all 
manner of questions ; but he declared that he was only his 
courier, and could only tell what other people said ; but 
then what other people said, by Timothy’s account, was 
very marvellous indeed. Timothy had hardly time to se- 
cure the best rooms in the hotel, when Melchoir, dressed 
in a long flowing silk gown, with a wig of long white hair, 
a square cap, and two or three gold chains hanging from 
G 2 


78 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

his neck, certainly most admirably disguised, and attended 
by me in the dress of a German student, a wig of long 
brown locks hanging down my shoulders, made our appear- 
ance in a post-chaise and four, and drove up to the door of 
the inn, at a pace which shook every house in the street, 
and occasioned every window to be tenanted with one or 
more heads to ascertain the cause of this unusual occur- 
rence, for it was not a very great town, although once of 
importance ; but the manufactures had been removed, and 
it was occupied by those who had become independent 
by their own exertions, or by those of their forefathers. 

The door of the chaise was opened by the obsequious 
Timothy, who pushed away the ostlers and waiters, as if 
\mworthy to approach his master, and the Great Aristode- 
mus made his appearance. As he ascended the steps of 
the door, his passage was for a moment barred by one 
whose profession Melchoir well knew. “ Stand aside, ex- 
ciseman!” said he, in a commanding voice. “No one 
crosses my path with impunity.” Astonished at hearing 
his profession thus mentioned, the exciseman, who was 
the greatest bully in the town, slipped on one side with 
consternation, and all those present lifted up their eyes and 
hands with astonishment. The Great Aristodemus gained 
his room, and shut his door ; and I went out to pay for the 
chaise and order supper, while Timothy and the porters 
-were busy with our luggage, which was very considerable. 

“ My master will not see any one,” said I to the landlord ; 
“ he quits this town to-morrow, if the letters arrive which 
he expects by the post ; therefore, pray get rid of this 
crowd, and let him be quiet, for he is very tired, having 
travelled one hundred and fifty miles since the dawn of 
day.” . 

When Tim and I had performed this duty, we joined 
Melchoir in his room, leaving the news to be circulated. 
“This promises well,” observed Melchoir; “up to the 
present we have expended much time and money ; now 
we must see if we cannot recover it tenfold. Japhet, you 
must take an opportunity of going out again after supper, 
and make inquiries of the landlord what poor people they 
have in the town, as I am very generous, and like to relieve 
them ; you may observe, that all the money offered to me 
for practising my art, I give away to the poor, having no 


OP A FATHER. 


79 


occasion for it.” This I did, and we then sat down to 
supper, and having unpacked our baggage, went to bed, 
after locking the door of the room, and taking out the key. 

The next morning we had every thing in readiness, and 
as the letters, as the reader may suppose, did not arrive by 
the post, we were obliged to remain, and the landlord ven- 
tured to hint to me, that several people were anxious to 
consult my master. I replied, that I would speak to him, 
but it was necessary to caution those who came, that they 
must either offer gold — or nothing at all. I brought his 
consent to see one or two, but no more. Now, although 
we had various apparatus to use when required, it was 
thought that the effect would be greater, if, in the first in- 
stance, every thing was simple. Melchoir, therefore, 
remained sitting at the table, which was covered with a 
black cloth, worked with curious devices, and a book of 
hieroglyphics before him, and an ivory wand, tipped with 
gold, lying by the book, Timothy standing at the door,', 
with a short Roman sword buckled round his belt, and I, in 
a respectful attitude, behind the Great Aristodemus. 

The first person who was admitted was the lady of the 
mayor of the town ; nothing could be more fortunate, as we 
had every information relative to her and her spouse ; for 
people in high places are always talked of. Aristodemus 
waved his hand, and I brought forward a chair in silence, 
and motioned that she should be seated. Aristodemus look- 
ed her in the face, and then turned over several leaves un- 
til he fixed upon a page, which he considered attentively. 
“ Mayoress of , what wouldst thou with me ?” 

She started, and turned pale. “ I would ask — ” 

“ I know ; thou wouldst ask many things, perhaps, had 
I time to listen. Amongst others, thou wouldst ask if there 
is any chance of thy giving an heir to thy husband. Is it 
not so ?” 

“ Yes, it is,” replied the lady, fetching her breath. 

“ So do I perceive by this book ; but let me put one 
question to thee. Wouldst thou have blessings showered 
on thee, yet do no good ? Thou art wealthy — yet what 
dost thou and thy husband do with these riches ? Are ye 
liberal ? No. Give, and it shall be given. I have said.’’ 

Aristodemus waved his hand, and the lady rose to with- 
draw. A guinea was in her fingers, and her purse in her 


80 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

hand ; she took out four more, and added them to the other, 
and laid them on the table. 

“ ’Tis well, lady; charity shall plead for thee. Artol- 
phe, let that money be distributed among the poor.” 

I bowed in silence, and the lady retired. 

“ Who will say that I do not good,” observed Melchoir, 
smiling, as soon as she was gone. “ Her avarice and that 
of her husband are as notorious as their anxiety for chil- 
dren. Now, if I persuade them to be liberal, I do 
service.” 

“ But you have given her hopes.” 

“ I have, and the very hope will do more to further their 
wishes than any thing else. It is despair which too often 
prevents those who have no children, from having any. 
How often do you see a couple, who after years waiting 
for children, have at last given up their hope, and resigned 
themselves to the dispensations of Providence, and then, 
when their anxiety has subsided, have obtained a family ? 
Japhet, I am a shrewd observer of human nature.” 

“ That I believe,” replied I ; “ but I do not believe 
your last remark to be correct — but Timothy raps at the 
door.” 

Another lady entered the room, and then started back, as 
if she would retreat, so surprised was she at the appearance 
of the Great Aristodemus ; but as Timothy had turned the 
key, her escape was impossible. She was unknown to us, 
which was rather awkward ; but Melchoir raised his eyes 
from his book, and waved his hand as before, that she 
should be seated. With some trepidation she stated, that 
she was a widow, whose dependence was upon an only 
son now at sea ; that she had not heard of him for a long 
while, and was afraid some accident had happened ; that 
she was in the greatest distress — “ and,” continued she, 
“ I have nothing to offer but this ring. Can you tell me if 
he is yet alive ?” cried she, bursting into tears ; “ but if you 
have not the art you pretend to, O do not rob a poor, friend- 
less creature, but let me depart !” 

“ When did you receive your last letter from him ?” said 
Melchoir. 

“ It is now seven months — dated from Bahia,” replied 
she, pulling it out of her reticule, and covering her face 
with her handkerchief. 


OF A FATHER. 


81 


Melchoir caught the address, and then turned the letter 
over on the other side, as it lay on the table. “ Mrs. Wat- 
son,” said he. 

“ Heavens ! do you know my name ?” cried the woman. 

“ Mrs. Watson, I do not require to read your son’s letter 
— I know its contents.” He then turned over his book, 
and studied for a few seconds. Your son is alive.” 

“ Thank God !” cried she, clasping her hands, and drop- 
ping her reticule. 

“ But you must not expect his return too soon — he is 
well employed.” 

“Oh! I care not — he is alive — he is alive ! God bless 
you — God bless you !” 

Melchoir made a sign to me, pointing to the five guineas 
and the reticule ; and I contrived to slip them into the reti- 
cule, while she sobbed in her handkerchief. 

“ Enough, madam ; you must go, for others require my 
aid.” ^ 

The p6or woman rose, and offered the ring. 

“ Nay, nay, I want not thy money ; I take from the rich, 
that I may distribute to the poor — but not from the widow 
in affliction. Open thy bag.” The widow took up her 
bag, and opened it. Melchoir dropped in the ring, and 
taking his wand from the table, waved it, and touched the 
bag. “ As thou art honest, so may thy present wants be 
relieved. Seek, and thou shalt find.” 

The widow left the room with tears of gratitude ; and I 
must say, that I was affected with the same. When she 
had gone, I observed to Melchoir, that up to the present he 
had toiled for nothing. 

“Very true, Japhet; but depend upon it, if I assisted 
that poor woman from no other feelings than interested mo- 
tives, I did well ; but I tell thee candidly, I did it from com- 
passion. We are odd mixtures of good and evil. I wage 
war with fools and knaves, but not with all the world. I 
gave that money freely — she required it ; and it may be 
put as a set-off against my usual system of fraud, or it may 
not — at all events, I pleased myself.” 

“ But you told her that her son was alive.” 

“ Very true, and he may be dead; but is it not w^ell to 
comfort her — even for a short time, to relieve that suspense 
which is worse than the actual knowledge of his death ? 
Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof,” 


82 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

It would almost have appeared that this good action of 
Melchoir met with its reward, for the astonishment of the 
widow at finding the gold in her reticule — her narrative of 
what passed, and her assertion, (which she firmly believed 
to be true,) that she had never left her reticule out of her 
hand, and that Melchoir had only touched it with his wand, 
raised his reputation to that degree, that nothing else was 
talked about throughout the town ; and, to crown all, the 
next day’s post brought her a letter and remittances from 
her son; and the grateful woman returned, and laid ten 
guineas on the black cloth, showering a thousand blessings 
upon Melchoir, and almost worshipping liim as a super- 
natural being. This was a most fortunate occurrence, and 
as Melchoir prophesied, the harvest did now commence. 
In four days we had received upwards of ^200, and we 
then thought it time that we should depart. The letters 
arrived, which were expected, and when we set off* in a 
chaise and four, the crowd to ‘see us was so great, that it 
was with difficulty we could pass through it. 

We had taken our horses for the next town ; but as soon 
^ as we were fairly on the road, I stopped the boys, and told 
them that the Great Aristodemus intended to observe- the 
planets and stars that night, and that they were to proceed 
to a common which I mentioned. The post-boys, who 
were well aware of his fame, and as fully persuaded of it 
as every body else, drove to the common ; we descended, 
took off the luggage, and received directions from Melchoir 
in their presence about the instruments, to which the boys 
listened with open mouths and wonderment. I paid them 
well, and told them that they might return, which they 
appeared very glad to do. They reported what had oc- 
curred, and this simple method of regaining our camp, 

added to the astonishment of the good town of . When 

they were out of sight we resumed our usual clothes, 
packed all up, carried away most of our effects, and hid 
the others in the furze to be sent for the next night, not be- 
ing more than two miles from the camp. We soon arrived, 
and were joyfully received by Fleta and Nattee. 

As we walked across the common, I observed to Mel- 
choir, “ I wonder if these stars have any influence upon 
mortals, as it was formerly supposed ?” 

“ Most assuredly they have,” replied Melchoir, “ I 
cannot read them, but I firmly believe in them.” 


.OF A FATHER. 


83 


I made the above remark, as I had often thought that 
such was Melchoir’s idea. 

“ Yes,” continued he, “ every man has his destiny — 
such must be the case. It is known beforehand what is to 
happen to us by an omniscient Being, and being known, 
what is it but destiny which cannot be changed ? It is fate," 
continued he, surveying the stars with his hand raised up ; 

“ and that fate is as surely written there as the sun shines 
upon us ; but the great book is sealed, because it would not 
add to our happiness.” 

“ If, then, all is destiny, or fate, what inducement is 
there to do well or ill ?” replied I. “ We may commit all 
acts of evil, and say, that as it was predestined, we could not 
help it. Besides, would it be just that the omniscient Be- 
ing should punish us for those crimes which we cannot 
prevent, and which are allotted to us by destiny ?” 

“ Japhety you argue well ; but you are in error, because, 
like most of those of the Christian church, you understand 
not the sacred writings, nor did I until I knew my wife. 
Her creed is, I believe, correct ; and what is more, adds 
weight to the truths of the Bible.” 

“ I thought that gipsies had no religion.” 

“You are not the only one who supposes so. It is true, 
that a majority of the tribe are held by the higher castes as 
serfs, and are not instructed ; but with — if I may use the 
expression — the aristocracy of them it is very dilferent, 
and their creed I have adopted.” 

“ I should wish to hear their creed,” replied I. 

“ Hear it then. Original sin commenced in heaven — 
when the angels rebelled against their God — not on earth.” 

“ I will grant that sin originated first in heaven.” 

“ Do you think that a great, a good God, ever created 
any being for its destruction and eternal misery, much less 
an angel ? Did he not foresee their rebellion ?” 

“ I grant it.” 

“ This world was not peopled with the image of God 
until after the fall of the angels : it had its living beings, 
its monsters perhaps, but not a race of mei\ wdth eternal 
souls. But it was peopled, as we see it now is, to enable 
the legions of angels who fell, to return to their former hap- 
py state — as a pilgrimage by which they might obtain their 
pardons, and resume their seats in heaven. Not a child is 
born, but the soul of some fallen cherub enters into the body 


84 


JAPHET, m SEARCH 

to work out its salvation. Many do, and many do not ; 
and then they have their task to recommence anew ; for 
the spirit, once created, is immortal, and cannot be de- 
stroyed ; and the Almighty is all goodness, and would ever 
pardon.” 

“ Then you suppose there is no such thing as eternal 
punishment ?” 

“ Eternal ! — no. Punishment there is, but not eternal. 
When the legions of angels fell, some were not so perverse 
as others : they soon re-obtained their seats, even when, as 
children, having passed through the slight ordeal, they 
have been summoned back to heaven ; but others who, 
from their infancy, show how bad were their natures, have 
many pilgrimages to perform before they can be purified. 
This is, in itself, a punishment. What other punishment 
they incur between their pilgrimages we know not ; but this 
is certain, that no one was created to be punished eter- 
nally.” 

“ But all this is but assertion,” replied I ; “ where are 
your proofs ?” 

“ In the Bible ; some day or another I will show them 
to you ; but now we are at the camp, and I am anxious to 
embrace Nattee.” 

I thought for some time upon this singular creed ; one, 
in itself, not militating against religion, but at the same 
time I could not call to mind any passages by which it 
could be supported. Still the idea was beautiful, and I 
dwelt upon it with pleasure. I have before observed, and 
indeed the reader must have gathered from my narrative, 
that Melchoir was no common personage. Every day did 
I become more partial to him, and more pleased with our 
er^iatic life. What scruples I had, at first, gradually wore 
away ; the time passed quickly, and although I would oc- 
casionally call to mind the original object of my setting 
forth, I would satisfy myself by the reflection, that there 
was yet sufficient time. Little Fleta was now my constant 
companion when in the camp, and I amused myself with 
teaching her to write and read. 

“ Japhet,” said Timothy to me one day as we were cut- 
ting hazel broach wood in the forest, “ I don’t see that you 
get on very fast in your search after your father.” 

“ No, Tim, I do not; but I am gaining a knowledge of 
the world which will be very useful to me when I recom- 


OF A FATHER. 85 

mence the search ; and what is more, I am saving a good 
deal of money to enable me to prosecute it.” 

“ What did Melchoir give you after we left?” 

“ Twenty guineas, which, with what I had before, makes 
more than fifty.” 

“ And he gave me ten, which makes twenty, with 
what I had before. Seventy pounds is a large sum.” 

“Yes, but soon spent, Tim. We must work a little 
longer. Besides, 1 cannot leave that little girl — she was 
never intended for a rope-dancer.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say that, Japhet, for I feel as 
you do — she shall share our fortunes.” 

“A glorious prospect truly,” replied I, laughing; “but 
never mind, it would be better than her remaining here. 
But how are we to manage that ?” 

“ Ah ! that ’s the rub : but there is time enough to think 
about it when we intend to quit our present occupation.” 

“ Well, I understand from Melchoir that we are to start 
in a few days.” 

“ What is it to be, Japhet?” - 

“ Oh ! we shall be at home — we are to cure all diseases 
under the sun.’ To-morroAv we commence making pills, 
so we may think ourselves with Mr. Cophagus again.” 

“ Well, I do think we shall have some fun ; but I hope 
Melchoir won’t make me take my own pills to prove their 
good qualities — that will be no joke.” 

“ O no, Num is kept on purpose for that. What else is 
the fool good for ?” 

The next week was employed as we anticipated. Boxes 
of pills of every size, neatly labelled ; bottles of various 
mixtures, chiefly stimulants, were corked and packed up. 
Powders of any thing were put in papers ; but, at all 
events, there was nothing hurtful in them. All was ready, 
and accompanied by Num (Jumbo and Fleta being left at 
home) we set off, TTelchoir, assumii^ the dress in which 
we had first met him in the wagon, and altering his ap- 
pearance so completely, that he would have been taken for 
at least sixty years old. We now travelled on foot with 
our dresses in bundles, each carrying his own, except 
Num, who was loaded like a pack-horse, and made sore 
lamentations : “ Can’t you carry some of this ?” 

“ No,” replied I ; “ it is your own luggage ; every one 
must carry his own.” 

VoL. I. H 


86 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 


“ Well, I never felt my spangled dress so heavy before. 
Where are we going ?” 

“ Only a little way,” replied Timothy, “ and then you 
will have nothing more to do.” 

“ I don’t know that. When master puts on that dress, I 
have to swallow little things till I’m sick.” 

“ It’s all good for your health, Num.” 

“ I’m very well, I thank ’e,” replied the poor fellow ; 
“ but I’m very hot and very tired.” 

Fortunately for poor Num, we were not far from the 
market town at which we intended to open our campaign, 
which we did the next morning by Num and Timothy 
sallying forth, the former with a large trumpet in his hand, 
and the latter riding on a donkey. On their arrival at the 
market-place, Num commenced blowing it w^th all his 
might, while Timothy, in his spangled dress, as soon as 
they had collected a crowd, stood upon his saddle and 
harangued the people as follows : — 

“ Gentlemen and ladies — I have the honour to announce 
to you the arrival in this town of the celebrated Doctor 
Appallacheosmocommetico, who has travelled further than 
the sun and faster than a comet. He hath visited every 
part of the globe. He has smoked the calumet with the 
Indians of North America — he has hunted with the Arau- 
cas in the South — galloped on 'wild horses over the plains 
of Mexico, and rubbed noses with the Esquimaux. He 
hath used the chopsticks with the Chinese, swung the 
Cherok pooga with the Hindoos, and pulled the nose of 
the Great Cham of Tartary. He hath visited and been 
received in every court of Europe : danced on the ice of 
the Neva with the Russians — led the mazurka with the 
Poles — waltzed with the Germans — tarantulaed with the 
Italians — fandangoed with the Spanish — and quadrilled 
with the French. He hath explored every mine in the 
universe, walked through every town on the continent, ex- 
amined every mountain in the world, ascended Mont Blanc, 
walked down the Andes, and run up the Pyrennees. He 
has been into every volcano in the globe, and descending 
by Vesuvius has been thrown up by Stromboli. He has 
lived more than a thousand years, and is still in the flower 
of youth. He has had one hundred and forty sets of teeth 
one after another, and expects a new set next Christmas. 
His whole life has been spent in the service of mankind, 


OF A FATHER. 


87 


and in doing good to his fellow-creatures ; and having the 
experience of more than a thousand years, he cures more 
than a thousand diseases. Gentlemen, the wonderful doctor 
will present himself before you this evening, and will then 
tell what his remedies are good for, so' that you may pick and 
choose according to your several complaints. Ladies, the 
wonderful doctor can greatly assist you : he has secrets by 
which you may have a family if you should so wish — 
philters to make husbands constant, and salve to make them 
blind — cosmetics to remove pimples and restore to youth 
and beauty, and powders to keep children from squalling. 
Sound the trumpet, Philotas ; sound, and let every body 
know that the wonderful Doctor Appallacheosmocommetico 
has vouchsafed to stop here and confer his blessings upon 
the inhabitants of this town.” Hereupon Num again blew 
the trumpet till he was black in the face ; and Timothy, 
dropping on his donkey, rode away to other parts of the 
town, where he repeated his grandiloquent announcement, 
followed, as may be supposed, by a numerous cortege of 
little ragged boys. 

About four o’clock in the afternoon, Melchoir made his 
appearance in the market-place, attended by me, dressed 
as a German student, Timothy and Num in their costumes. 
A stage had been already prepared, and the populace had 
crowded round it more with the intention of laughing than 
of making purchases. The various packets were opened 
and arranged in front of the platform, I standing on one 
side of Melchoir, Timothy on the other, and Num with 
his trumpet, holding on by one of the scaffold poles at the 
corner. 

“ Sound the trumpet, Philotas,” said Melchoir, taking 
off his three-cornered hat, and making a low bow to the 
audience at every blast. “Pray, Mr. Fool, do you know 
why you sound the trumpet?” 

“ Pm sure I don’t know,” replied Num, opening his 
goggle eyes. 

“ Do you know, Mr. Dionysius ?” 

“ Yes, sir, I can guess.” 

“ Explain, then, to the gentlemen and ladies who have 
honoured us with their presence.” 

“ Because, sir, trumpets are always sounded before great 
conquerors.” 

“ Very true, sir ; but how am I a great conqueror?” 


88 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

“You have conquered death, sir; and he ’s a very rum 
customer to have to deal with.” 

“ Dionysius, you have answered well, and shall have 
some bullock’s liver for your supper — don’t forget to re- 
mind me, in case I forget it.” 

“^No, that I won’t, sir,” replied Timothy, rubbing his 
stomach, as if delighted with the idea. 

“ liadies and gentlemen,” said Melchoir to the audience, 
who were on a broad grin, “ I see your mouths are all 
open, and waiting for the pills ; but be not too impatient — 
I cannot part with my medicines unless you have diseases 
which require their aid ; and I should, indeed, be a sorry 
doctor, if I prescribed without knowing your complaints. 
Est neutrale genus signans rem non animatum, says 
Herodotus ; which in English means, what is one man’s 
meat is another man’s poison ; and further adds, Ut jecur, 
ut onus, 'put ut occiput, which is as much as to say, that 
what agrees with one temperament, will be injurious to 
another. Caution, therefore, becomes very necessary in 
the use of medicine ; and my reputation depends upon my 
not permitting any one to take what is not good for him. And 
now, my very dear friends, I will first beg you to observe 
the peculiar qualities of the contents of this little phial. 
You observe that there is not more than sixty drops in it, 
yet will these sixty drops add ten years to a man’s life— 
for it will cure him of almost 'as many diseases. In the 
first place, are any of you troubled with the ascites, or 
dropsy ? which, as the celebrated Galen hath declared, may 
be divided into three parts : the ascites, the anasarca, and 
the t'ympanites . The diagnostics of this disease are, 
swelling of the abdomen or stomach, difficulty of breath- 
ing, want of appetite, and a teazing cough.. I say, have 
any of you this disease? None! Then I thank Heaven 
that you are not so afflicted. 

“ The next disease it is good for, is the peripneumonia, 
or inflammation on the lungs — the diagnostics or symptoms 
of which are, a small pulse, swelling of the eyes, and red- 
ness of the face. Say, have any of you these symptoms ? 
if so, you have the disease. No one! I thank Heaven that 
you are none of you so afflicted. 

“ It is also a sovereign remedy for the diarrhoea, the 
diagnostics of which are, faintness, frequent gripings, 
rumbling in the bowels, cold sweats, and spasm.” 


OF A FATHER. 


89 


Here one man came forward and complained of frequent 
gripings — another of rumbling in the bowels, and two or 
three more of cold sweats. 

“ It is well. O, I thank Heaven that I am here to admin- 
ister to you myself ! for what says Hippocrates ? Rela- 
tivum cum antecedente concordat, which means, that reme- 
dies quickly applied, kills the disease in its birth. Here, 
my friends, take it — take it — pay me only one shilling, and 
be thankful. When you go to rest, fail not to offer up your 
prayers. It is also a sovereign remedy for the dreadful 
chiragru or gout. I cured the whole corporation of city 
aldermen last week, by their taking three bottles each, and 
they presented me with the freedom of the city of London, 
in a gold box, which, I am sorry to say, I have forgotten to 
bring with me. Now the chiragra may be divided into 
several varieties. Gonagra, when it attacks the knees — 
chiragra, if in the hands — onagra, if in the elbow — oma- 
gra, if in the shoulder, and lumbago, if in the back. All 
these are varieties of gout, and for all these the contents of 
this little bottle is a sovereign remedy ; and observe, it will 
keep for ever. Twenty years hence, when afflicted in your 
old age — and the time will come, my good people — you 
may take down this little phial from the shelf, and bless 
the* hour in which you spent your shilling ; for as Eusebius 
declares, “ Verbum personale concordat cum nominativo,^ 
which is as much as to say, the active will grow old, and 
suffer from pains in their limbs, or lumbago ? Who, indeed, 
can say that he will not have them ?” 

After this appeal, the number of those who had pains in 
their limbs, or who wished* to provide against such a dis- 
ease, proved so great, that all our phials were disposed of, 
and the doctor was obliged to promise that in a few days 
he would have some more of this invaluable medicine 
ready. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, I shall now offer to your notice 
a valuable plaister, the effects of which are miraculous. 
Dionysius, come hither, you have ffflt, the benefit of this 
plaister ; tell your case to those who are present, and mind 
you tell the truth.” 

Hereupon Timothy stepped forward. “ Ladies and gen- 
tlemen, upon my honour, about three weeks back I fell 
off the scaffold, broke my back bone into three pieces, and 
was carried off to a surgeon, who looked at me, and told the 
h2 


90 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

people to take measure for my coffin. The great doctor 
was not there at the time, having been sent for to consult 
with the king’s physicians upon the queen’s case of Coj)ha- 
gus, or intermitting mortification of the great toe ; but for- 
tunately, just as they were putting nie into a shell, my 
master came back, and immediately applying his sovereign 
plaister to my back, in five days I was able to sit up, and 
in ten days I returned to my duty.” 

‘ Are you quite well now, Dionysius ?” 

“ Quite well, sir, and my back is like a whalebone.” 

“Try it.” 

Hereupon Dionysius threw two somersets forward, two 
backward, walked across the stage on his hands, and tum- 
bled in every direction. 

“ You see, gentlemen. I’m quite well now ; and what I 
have said, I assure you, on my honour^ to be a fact.’.’ 

“ I hope you ’ll allow that to be a very pretty cure,” 
said the doctor, appealing to the audience ; “ and I hardly 
need say, that for sprains, bruises, contusions, wrenches, 
and dislocations, this plaister is infallible ; and I will sur- 
prise you more by telling you, that I can sell it for eight- 
pence a sheet.” 

The plaister went off rapidly, and was soon expended. 
The doctor went on describing his other valuable articles, 
and when he came to his cosmetics, &c., for women, we 
could not hand them out fast enough. “ And now,” said the 
doctor, “ I must bid you farewell for this evening.” 

“ I’m glad of that,” said Timothy, “ for now I mean to 
sell my own medicine.” 

“ Your medicine, Mr. Dionysius ! what do you mean by 
that?” 

“ Mean, sir ; I mean to say that I’ve got a powder of my 
own contriving, which is a sovereign remedy.” 

“ Remedy, sir, for what ?” 

“ Why, it ’s a powder to kill fleas, and what ’s more, it’s 
just as infallible as your own.” 

“ Have you, indeed ; and pray, sir, how did you hit 
upon the invention ?” 

“ Sir, I discovered it in my sleep by accident ; but I have 
proved it, and I will say, if properly administered, it is 
quite as infallible as any of yours. Ladies and gentlemen, 
I pledge you my honour that it will have the effect desired, 
and all I ask is sixpence a powder.” 


OF A FATHER. 


91 


“ But how is it to be used, sir ?” 

“ Used — why, like all other powders ; but I won’t give 
the directions till I have sold some ; promising, however, 
if my method does not succeed, to return the money.” 

“ Well, that is fair, Mr. Dionysius ; and I will take care 
that you keep your bargain. Will any body purchase the 
fool’s powder for killing fleas ?” 

“ Yes, I will,” replied a man on the broad grin ; “ here’s 
sixpence. Now, then, fool, how am I to use it?” 

“Use it?” said Timothy, putting the sixpence in his 
pocket; “I’ll explain to you. You must first catch the 
flea ; hold him so tight between the forefinger and thumb as 
to force him to open his mouth ; when his mouth is open, 
you must put a very little of this powder into it, and it will 
kill him directly.” 

“ Why, when I have the flea so tight as you state, I 
may as well kill him myself.” 

“ Very true, so you may if you prefer it ; but if you do 
not, you may use this powder, which upon my honour is 
infaljible.”* 

This occasioned a great deal of mirth among the by- 
standers. Timothy kept his sixpence, and our exhibition 
for this day ended, very much to the satisfaction of Mel- 
choir, who declared he had taken more than ever he had 
done before in a whole week. Indeed, the whole sum 
amounted to 17/. IO 5 ., all taken in shillings and sixpences, 
for articles hardly worth the odd shillings in the account ; 
so we sat down to supper with anticipations of a good har- 
vest, and so it proved. We stayed four days at this town, 
and then proceeded onwards, when the like success attend- 
ed us — Timothy and I being obliged to sit up nearly the 
whole night to label and roll up pills, and mix medicines, 
which we did in a very scientific manner. Nor was it al- 
ways that Melchoir presided ; he would very often tell his 
audience that business required his attendance elsewhere, 
to visit the sick, and that he left the explanation of his 
medicines and their properties, to his pupil, who was far 
advanced in knowledge. With my prepossessing appear- 
ance, I made a great effect, more especially among the 

* We assure our friend Rigdum Funnidos that we stole this Joe 
Miller, months before his “ Comic Almanac” came out. We claim 
precedence as a thief. 


92 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

ladies, and Timothy exerted himself so much when with 
me, that we never failed to bring home to Melchoir a 
great addition to his earnings — so much so, that at last he 
only showed himself, pretended that he was so importuned 
to visit sick persons that he could stay no longer, and 
then leave us, after the first half hour, to carry on the busi- 
ness for him. After six weeks of uninterrupted success, 
we returned to the camp, which, as usual, was not very 
far off. 

Melchoir’s profits had beeii much more than he antici- 
pated, and he was very liberal to Timothy and me ; in- 
deed, he looked upon me as his right hand, and became 
more intimate and attached every day. We were of course 
delighted to return to the camp, after our excursion. There 
was so much continual bustle and excitement in our pecu- 
liar profession, that a little quiet was delightful ; and I 
never felt more happy than when Fleta threw herself into 
my arms, and Nattee came forward with her usual dignity 
and grace, but with more than usual condescendence and 
kindness, bidding me welcome /iome. Home — alas! it. was 
never meant for my home, or poor Fleta’s — and that I felt. 
It was our sojourn for a time, and no more. 

We had been more than a year exercising our talents in 
this lucrative manner, when one day, as I was sitting at 
the entrance of the tent, with a book in my hand, out of 
which Fleta was reading to me, a gipsy not belonging to 
our gang made his appearance. He was covered with dust, 
and the dew drops hanging on his dark forehead proved 
that he had travelled fast. He addressed Nattee, who was 
standing by, in their OAvn language, Avhich I did not under- 
stand ; but I perceived he asked for Melchoir. After an 
exchange of a few sentences, Nattee expressed astonish- 
ment and alarm, and put her hands over her face, removed 
them as quickly as if derogatory in her to show emotion, 
and then remained in deep thought. Perceiving Melchoir 
approaching, the gipsy hastened to him, and they were 
soon in animated conversation. In ten minutes it was over : 
the gipsy went to the running brook, washed his face, took 
’a large draught of water, and then hastened away, and was 
soon out of sight. 

Melchoir, who had watched the departure of the gipsy, 
slowly approached us. I observed him and Nattee, as they 
met, as I was certain that something important had taken 


OP A FATHER. 


93 


place. Melchoir fixed his eyes upon Nattee — she looked 
at him mournfully — folded her arms, and made a slight bow 
as if in submission, and in a low voice quoted from the 
Scriptures, “ Whither thou goest, I will go — thy people 
shall be my people, and thy God my God.” He then 
walked away with her : they sat down apart, and were in 
earnest conversation for more than an hour. 

“ Japhet,” said Melchoir to me, after he had quitted his 
wife, “ what I am about to tell you will surprise you. I 
have trusted you with all I dare trust any one, but there 
are some secrets in every man’s life which had better be 
reserved for himself and her who is bound to him by 
solemn ties. We must now part. In a few days this camp 
will be broken up, and these people will join some other 
division of the tribe. For me, you will, see me no more. 
Ask me not to explain, for I cannot.” 

“ And Nattee,” said I. 

“ Will follow my fortunes, whatever they may be — you 
will see her no more.” 

“ For myself I care not, Melchoir ; the world is before 
me, and remain with the gipsies without you I will not ; 
but answer me one question — what is to become of little 
Fleta ? Is she to remain with the tribe, to which she does 
no.t belong, or does she go with you ?” 

Melchoir hesitated. “ I hardly can answer — but what 
consequence can the welfare of a soldier’s brat be to 
you ?’’ 

“ Allowing her to be what you assert, Melchoir, I am 
devotedly attached to that child, and could not bear that she 
should remain here ; I am sure that you tleceived me in 
what you stated ; for the child remembers, and has told me, 
anecdotes of her infancy, which proves that she is of no 
mean family, and that she has been stolen from her 
friends.” 

“ Indeed ! is her memory so good ?” replied Melchoir, 
firmly closing his teeth. “ To Nattee or to me she has 
never hinted so much.” 

“ That is very probable ; but a stolen child she is, Mel- 
choir, and she must not remain here.” 

“ Must not !” 

“Yes; must not, Melchoir; when you quit the tribe, 
you will no longer have any power, nor can you have any 
interest about her. She shall then choose — if she will come 


94 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 


with me, I will take her, and nothing shall prevent me ; 
and in so doing I do you no injustice, nor do I swerve in 
my fidelity.” 

“ How do you know that? I may have my secret rea- 
sons against it.” 

“ Surely you can have no interest in a soldier’s brat, 
Melchoir ?” 

Melchoir appeared confused and annoyed. “ She is no 
soldier’s brat ; I acknowledge, Japhet, that the child was 
stolen ; but you must not, therefore, imply that the child 
was stolen by me or my wife.” 

“I never accused you, or thought you capable of it; 
and that is the reason why I am now surprised at the in- 
terest you take in her. If she prefers to go with you, I 
have no more to say ; but if not, I claim her ; and if she 
consents, will resist your interference.” 

“ Japhet,” replied Melchoir, after a pause, “ we must 
not quarrel now that we are about to part. I will give you 
an answer in half an hour.” 

Melchoir returned to Nattee, and recommenced a con- 
versation with her, while I hastened to Fleta. 

“ Fleta, do you know that the camp is to be broken up, 
and Melchoir and Nattee leave it altogether?” 

“ Indeed !” replied she with surprise. “ Then what is 
to become of you and Timothy ?” 

“ We must of course seek our fortunes where we can.” 

“ And of me ?” continued she, looking me earnestly in 
the face with her large blue eyes. “ Am I to stay here ?” 
continued she, with alarm in her countenance. 

“ Not if you do not wish it, Fleta: as long as I can 
support you I will — that is, if you would like to live with 
me in preference to Melchoir.” 

“ If I would like ! Japhet ; you must know I would like 
— who has been so kind to me as you ? Don’t leave me, 
Japhet.” 

“ I will not, Fleta ; but on condition that you promise 
to be guided by me, and to do all I wish.” 

“ To do what you wish is the greatest pleasure that I 
have, Japhet — so I may safely promise that. What has 
happened ?” 

“ That I do not know more than yourself ; but Mel- 
choir tells me that he and Nattee quit the gipsy tents for 
ever.” 


OF A FATHER. 


95 


Fleta looked round to ascertain if any one was near us, 
and then in a low tone said, “ I understand their language, 
Japhet, that is, a great deal of it, although they do not 
think so ; and I overheard what the gipsy said in part, al- 
though he was at some distance. He asked for Melchoir; 
and when Nattee wanted to know what he wanted, he an- 
swered that, ‘ he was dead;’ then Nattee covered up her 
face. I could not hear all the rest, but there was some- 
thing about a Aorse.” 

He was dead. Had then Melchoir committed murder^ 
and was obliged to fly the country ? This appeared to me 
to be the most probable, when I collected the facts in my 
possession ; and yet I could not believe it ; ,for except that 
system of deceit necessary to carry on his various profes- 
sions, I never found any thing in Melchoir’s conduct which 
could be considered as criminal. On the contrary, he was 
kind, generous, and upright in his private dealings, and in 
many points proved that he had a good heart. He was a 
riddle of inconsistency it was certain : professionally, he 
would cheat any body, and disregard all truth and honesty ; 
but, in his private character, he was scrupulously honest, 
and, with the exception of the assertion relative to Fleta’s 
birth and parentage, he had never told me a lie, that I 
could discover. I was running up all these reflections in 
my mind, when Melchoir again came up tome, and desir- 
ing the little girl to go away, he said, “ Japhet, I have re- 
solved to grant your request with respect to Fleta, but it 
must be on conditions.” 

“ Let me hear them.” 

“ First, then, Japhet, as you always have been honest 
and confiding with me, tell me now what are your inten- 
tions. Do you mean to follow up the profession which 
you learnt under me, or what do you intend to do ?” 

“ Honestly, then, Melchoir, I do not intend to follow up 
that profession, unless driven to it by necessity. I intend 
to seek my father.” 

“ And if driven to it by necessity, do you intend that 
Fleta shall aid you by her acquirements ? In short, do you 
mean to take her with you as a speculation, to make the 
most of her, to let her sink, when she arrives at the age 
of woman, into vice and misery ?” 

“ I wonder at your asking me that question, Melchoir; 
it is the first act of injustice I have received at your hands. 


96 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

No ; if obliged to follow up the profession, I will not allow 
Fleta so to do. I would sooner that she were in her grave. 
It is to rescue her from that very vice and misery, to take 
her out of a society in which she never ought to have been 
placed, that I take her with me.” 

“ And this upon your honour ?” 

“ Yes, upon my honour. I love her as my sister, and I 
cannot help indulging on the hope that in seeking my 
father, I may chance to stumble upon hers.” 

Melchoir bit his lips. “ There is another promise I must 
exact from you, Japhet, which is, that to a direction which 
I will give you, every six months you will inclose an ad- 
dress where you may be heard of, and also intelligence as 
to Fleta’s welfare and health.” 

“ To that I give my cheerful promise ; but, Melchoir, 
you appear to have taken, all at once, a strange interest in 
this little girl.” 

“ I wish you now to think that I do take an interest in 
her, provided you seek not to inquire the why and the 
wherefore. Will you accept of funds for her mainte- 
nance ?” * 

“ Not without necessity compels me ; and then I shall 
be glad to find, when I can no longer help her, that you 
are still her friend.” 

“ Recollect, that you will always find what is requisite 
by writing to the address which I shall give you before we 
part. That point is now settled, and on the whole I think 
the arrangement is good.” 

Timothy had been absent during the events of the morn- 
ing — when he returned, I communicated to him what had 
passed, and was about to take place. 

“ Well, Japhet, I don’t know — I do not dislike our pre- 
sent life, yet I am not sorry to change it ; but what are we 
to do ?” 

“ That remains to be considered ; we have a good stock 
of money, fortunately, and we must husband it till we 
find what can be done.” 

We took our suppers all together for the last time, Mel- 
choir telling us that he had determined to set ofi’ the next 
day. Nattee looked very melancholy, but resigned ; on 
the contrary, little Fleta was so overjoyed, that her face, 
generally so mournful, was illuminated with smiles when- 
ever our eyes met. It was delightful to see her so happy. 


OF A FATHER. 


97 

The whole of the people in the camp had retired, and Mel- 
choir was busy making his arrangements in the tent. I did 
not feel inclined to sleep ; I was thinking and revolving in 
my mind my prospects for the future ; sitting, or rather 
lying down, for I was leaning on my elbow, at a short dis- 
tance from the tents. The night was dark but clear, andl 
the stars were brilliant. I had been watching them, and I 
thought upon Melchoir’s ideas of destiny, and dwelling on 
the futile wish that I could read mine, when I perceived 
the approach of Nattee. 

“ Japhet,” said she, “ you are to take the little girl with 
you I find — will you be careful of her ? for it would be on 
my conscience if she were left to the mercy of the world. 
She departs rejoicing, let her joy not end in tears. I de- 
part sorrowing. I leave my people, my kin, my habits 
and customs, my influence, all — but it must be so, it is my 
destiny. She is a good child, Japhet — promise me that 
you will be a friend to her — and give her this to wear in 
remembrance of me, but — not yet — not till we are gone 

.” She hesitated. “ Japhet, do not let Melchoir see 

it in your possession ; he may not like my having given it 
away.” I took the piece of paper containing the present, 
and having promised all she required, “ this is the last — 
yes — the very last time that I may behold this scene,” con- 
tinued Nattee, surveying the common, the tents, and the 
animals browsing. “Be it so ; Japhet, good night, may 
you prosper!” She then turned away, and entered her 
tent ; and soon afterwards I followed her example. 

The next day, Melchoir was all ready. What he had 
packed up was contained in two small bundles. He ad- 
dressed the people belonging to the gang, in their own 
language. Nattee did the same, and the whole of them 
kissed her hand. The tents, furniture, and the greatest 
part of his other property were distributed among them. 
Jumbo and Num were made over to two of the principal 
men. Timothy, Fleta, and I, were also ready, and in- 
tended to quit at the same time as Melchoir and his^wife. 

“ Japhet/’ said Melchoir, “ there is yet some money 
due to you for our last excursion — (this was true,) — here 
it is — you and Timothy keep but one purse, I am aware. 
Good bye, and may you prosper !” 

We shook hands with Nattee and Melchoir. Fleta went 
up to the former, and crossing her arms, bent her head. 

VoL. I. I 


98 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

Nattee kissed the child, and led her to Melchoir. He 
stooped down, kissed her on the forehead, and I perceived 
a sign of strong compressed emotion as he did so. Our in- 
tended routes lay in a different direction, and when both 
parties had arrived to either verge of the common, we 
waved our hands as a last farewell, and resumed our paths 
again. Fleta burst into tears as she turned away from her 
former guardians. 

I led the little sobbing girl by the hand, and we proceed- 
ed for some time in silence. It was not until we gained 
the high road that Timothy interrupted my reverie, by ob- 
serving, “ Japhet, have you at all made up your mind what 
you shall do ?” 

“ I have been reflecting, Timothy. We have lost a great 
deal of time. The original intention with which I left 
London has been almost forgotton ; but it must be so no 
longer. I now have resolved that as soon as I have placed 
this poor little girl in safety, that I will prosecute my 
search, and never be diverted from it.” 

“ I cannot agree with you that we lost time, Japhet ; we 
had very little money when we started upon our expedition, 
and now we have sufficient to enable you to prosecute your 
plans for a long time. The question is, in what direction ? 
We quitted London and travelled west, in imitation, as we 
thought, of the wue, man. With all deference, in my 
opinion, it was like two fools.’^ 

“ I have been thinking upon that point also, Tim, and I 
agree with you. I expect, for several causes, which you 
know as well as I do, to find my father among the higher 
classes of society ; and the path we took when we started, 
has led us into the very lowest. It appears to me that we 
cannot do better than retrace our steps. We have the 
means now to appear as gentlemen, and to mix in good com- 
pany ; and London is the very best place for us to repair to.” 

“ That is precisely my opinion, Japhet, with one single 
exception, which I will mention to you ; but first tell me, 
have you calculated what our joint purses may amount to ? 
It must be a very considerable sum.” 

“ I cannot have much less than two hundred pounds,” 
replied 1. 

“ And I have more than sixty,” said Timothy. “ Re- 
ally the profession was not unprofitable.” 

“ No,” replied I, laughing ; “ but recollect, Tim, that 


OF A FATHER. 


99 

we had no outlay. The public provided us with food, our 
lodging cost us nothing. We have had no taxes to pay ; 
and at the same time have taxed folly and credulity to a 
great extent.” 

“ That’s true, Japhet; and although I am glad to have 
the money, I am not sorry that we have abandoned the 
profession.” 

“ Nor am I, Tim ; if you please, we will forget it alto- 
gether. But tell me, what was the exception you were 
about to make ?” 

“ Simply this. Although two hundred and sixty pounds 
may be a great deal of money, yet if we are to support the 
character and appearance of gentlemen, it will not last for 
ever. For instance, we must have our valets. What an ex- 
pense that will be ! Our clothes too — we shall soon lose our 
rank and station in society, without we obtain a situation 
under government.” 

, “ We must make it last as long as we can, Timothy; 
and trust to good fortune to assist us.” 

“ That ’s all very well, Japhet; but I had rather trust to 
our own prudence. Now hear what I have to say. You 
will be as much assisted by a trusty valet as by any other 
means. I shall, as a gentleman, be only an expense and 
an incumbrance ; but as a valet I shall be able to play into 
your hands ; at the same time more than one half the expense 
will bo avoided. With your leave, therefore, I will tajce 
my proper situation, put on your livery, and thereby make 
myself of the greatest use.” 

I could not help acknowledging the advantages to be de- 
rived from this proposal of Timothy’s ; but I did not like 
to accept it. 

“It is very kind of you, Timothy,” replied I ; “but 
I can only look upon you as a friend and an equal.” 

“ There you are right and wrong in the same breath. 
You are right in looking upon me as a friend, Japhet ; and 
you would be still more right in allowing me to prove my 
friendship as I propose ; but you are wrong in looking 
upon me as an equal, for I am not so either in personal ap- 
pearance, education, or anything else." We are both found- 
lings, it is true ; but you were christened after Abraham 
Newland, and I after the workhouse pump. You were a 
gentleman foundling, presenting yourself with a fifty pound 
note, and good clothes. I made my appearance in rags 


100 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

and misery. If you find your parents, you will rise in the 
world ; if I find mine, I shall, in all probability, have no 
reason to be proud of them. I therefore must insist upon 
having my own choice in the part I am to play in the 
drama, and I will prove to you that it is my right to choose. 
You forget that, when you started, your object was to 
search after your father, and I told you mine was to look 
after my mother. You have selected high life as the ex- 
pected sphere in which he is to be found, and I select low 
life as that in which I am most likely to discover the ob- 
ject of my search. So you perceive,” continued Tim, 
laughing, “ that we must arrange so as to suit the views 
of both without parting company. Do you hunt among 
bag-wigs, amber-headed canes, silks and satins — I will 
burrow among tags and tassels, dimity and mob caps ; and 
probably we shall both succeed in the object of our search. 
I leave you to hunt in the drawing-rooms, while I ferret in 
the kitchen. You may throw yourself on a sofa and ex- 
claim — ‘ Who is my father ?’ while I will sit in the cook’s 
lap, and ask her if she may happen to be my mother.” 

This sally of Timothy’s made even Fleta laugh ; and 
after a little more remonstrance, I consented that he should 
perform the part of my valet. Indeed, the more I reflected 
upon it, the greater appeared the advantages which might 
accrue from the arrangement. By the time that this point 
had been settled, we had arrived at the town to which we 
directed our steps, and took up our quarters at an inn of 
moderate pretensions, but of very great external cleanliness. 
My first object was to find out some fitting asylum for little 
Fleta. The landlady was a buxom, good tempered young 
woman, and I gave the little girl into her charge, while 
Timothy and I went out on a survey. I had made up my 
mind to put her to some good, but not very expensive, 
school, if such were to be found in the vicinity. I should 
have preferred taking her with me to London, but I was 
aware how much more expensive it would be to provide 
for her there ; and as the distance from the metropolis was 
but twenty miles, I could easily run down to see her oc- 
casionally. I desired the little girl to call me her brother, as 
such I intended to be to her in future, and not to answer 
every question they might put to her. There was, how- 
ever, little occasion for this caution ; for Fleta was, as I 
before observed, very unlike children in general. I then 


OF A FATHEH. 


101 


went out with Timothy to look for a tailor, that I might 
order our clothes, as what we had on were not either of 
the very best taste, or in the very best condition. We 
walked up the main street, and soon fell in with a tailor’s 
shop, over which was written in large letters — “ Feodor 
Shneider, Tailor to his Royal Highness the Prince of 
Darmstadt.” 

“ Will that do, Japhet?” said Timothy, pointing to the 
announcement. 

“ Why, yes,” replied I ; “ but how the deuce the Prince 
of Darmstadt should have employed a man in a small 
country town as his tailor, is to me rather a puzzle.” 

“ Perhaps he made his clothes when he was in Ger- 
many,” replied Tim. 

“ Perhaps he did ; but, however, he shall have the hon- 
our of making mine.” 

We entered the shop, and I ordered a suit of the most 
fashionable clothes, choosing my colours, and being very 
minute in my directions to the foreman, who measured 
me ; but as I was leaving the shop, the master, judging by 
my appearance, which was certainly not exactly that of a 
gentleman, ventured to observe, tliat it was customary Muth 
gentlemen, whom they had not the honour of knowing, to 
leave a deposit. Although the very proposal was an at- 
tack upon my gentility, I made no reply ; but pulling out 
a handful of guineas, laid down two on the counter and 
walked away, that I might find another shop at which we 
might order the livery of Timothy ; but this was only as 
a reconnoitre, as I did not intend to order his liveries until 
I could appear in my own clothes, which were promised 
on the afternoon' of the next day. There were, however, 
several other articles to be purchased, such as a trunk, 
portmanteau, hat, gloves, <fec., all of which we procured, 
and then returnecl to the inn. On my return I ordered 
dinner. Fleta was certainly clad in her best frock, l^ut 
bad was the best ; and the landlady, who could extract little 
from the child, could not imagine who we could be. I had, 
however, allowed her to see more than sufficient money to 
warrant our expenses ; and so far her scruples were, al- 
though her curiosity was not, removed. 

That evening I had a long conversation with Fleta. I 
told her that we were to part, that she must go to school, 
and that I would very often come down to see her. At first, 

I 2 


102 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

she was inconsolable at the idea ; but I reasoned with her, 
and the gentle, intelligent creature acknowledged that it 
was right. The next day my clothes came home, and I 
dressed myself. “ Without flattery, Japhet,” said Timothy, 

“ you do look very much like a gentleman.” Fleta smiled, 
and said the same. I thought so too, but said nothing. 
Putting on my hat and gloves, and accompanied by Timo- 
thy, I descended to go out and order Tim liveries, as w^ell 
as a fit-out for Fleta. 

After I was out in the street I discovered that I had left 
my handkerchief, and returned to fetch it. The landlady, _ 
seeing a gentleman about to enter the inn, made a very 
low courtsey, and it was not until I looked hard at her that 
she recognized me. Then I was satisfied ; it was an in- 
voluntary tribute to my appearance, worth all the flattering 
assertions in the world. We now proceeded to the other 
tailor’s in the main street. I entered the shop with a flour- 
ishing, important air, and was received with many bows. 

“ I wish,” said I, “ to have a suit of livery made for this 
young man, who is about to enter into my service. I can- 
not take him up to town this figure.” The livery was 
chosen, and as I expressed my wish to be off the next even- 
ing, it was promised to be ready by an hour appointed. 

I then went to a milliner’s, and desired that she would 
call at the inn to fit out a little girl for school, whose w^ard- 
robe had been left behind by mistake. On the fourth day 
all w^as ready. I had made inquiries, and found out a very 
respectable school, kept by a widow lady. I asked for 
references, which were given, and I was satisfied. The 
terms were low — twenty guineas per annum. I paid the 
first half year in advance, and lodged fifty guineas more in 
the hands of a banker, taking a receipt for it, and giving di- 
rections that it was to be paid to the schoolmistress' as it 
became due. I took this precaution, that should I be in - 
poverty myself, at all events Fleta might be provided in 
clothes and schooling for two years at least. The poor 
child wept bitterly at the separation, and I could with dif- 
ficulty detach her little arms from my neck ; and I felt, 
when I left her, as if I had parted with the only valuable 
object to me on earth. All was now re^dy ; but Timothy 
did not as yet assume his new clothes. It would have ap- 
peared strange that one who sat at my table should after- 
wards put on my livery ; and as in a small town there is 


OP A FATHER. 


103 


always plenty of scandal, for Fleta’s sake, if for no other 
reason, it was deferred until our arrival in London. Wish- 
ing the landlady good bye, who I really believed would 
have given up her bill to have known who we could possi- 
bly be, we got on the outside of the stage-coach, and in the 
evening arrived at the metropolis. I have been particular 
in describing all these little circumstances, as it proves how 
very aAvkward it is to jump, without observation, from one 
station in society to another. 

But I have omitted to mention a circumstance of great 
importance, which occurred at the inn the night before I 
placed Fleta at the boarding-school. In looking over my 
portmanteau, I perceived the present of Nattee to Fleta, 
Avhich I had quite forgotten. I took it to Fleta, and told 
her from whom it came. On opening the paper, it proved 
to contain a long chain of round coral and gold beads, 
strung alternately ; the gold beads were not so large as the 
coral, but still the number of them, and the purity of the 
metal, made them of considerable value. Fleta passed the 
beads through her fingers, and then*threw them round her 
neck, and sat in deep thought for some minutes. “ Ja- 
phet,” said she at last, “ I have seen this — I have worn 
this before — I recollect that I have ; it rushes into my 
memory as an old friend, and I think that before morning 
it will bring to my mind something that I shall recollect 
about it.” 

“ Try all you can, Fleta, and let me know to-morrow.” 

“It’s no use trying ; if I try, I never can recollect any 
thing. I must wear it to-night, and then I shall have some- 
thing come into my mind all of a sudden ; or perhaps I 
may dream something. Good night.” 

It immediately occurred to me that it was most probable 
that the chain had been on Fleta’s neck at the time that she 
Avas stolen from her parents, and might prove the means 
of her being identified. It Avas no common chain — ap- 
parently had been Avrought by people in a state of semi-re- 
finement. There Avas too little shoAV for its value — too 
much sterling gold for the simple effect produced ; and I 
very much doubted Avhether another like it could be found. 

The next morning Fleta Avas too much affected at part- 
ing with me, to enter into much conversation. I asked 
Avhether she had recollected any thing, and she replied, 
“ No ; that she had cried all night at the thoughts of our 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 


104 

separation.” I cautioned her to be very careful of the chain, 
and 1 gave the same caution to the school-mistress ; and 
after I had left the town, I regretted that I had not taken it 
away, and deposited it in some place of security. I re- 
solved so to do when next I saw Fleta ; in the mean time, 
she would be able, perhaps, by association, to callup some 
passage of her infancy connected with it. 

I had inquired of a gentleman who sat near me on the 
coach, which was the best hotel for a young man of fash- 
ion. He recommended the Piazza, in Covent Garden, and 
to that we accordingly repaired. I selected handsome 
apartments, and ordered a light supper. When the table 
was laid, Timothy made his appearance in his livery and 
cut a very smart, dashing figure. I dismissed the waiter, 
and as soon as we were alone, I burst into a fit of laughter, 
“ Really, Timothy, this is a good farce ; come, sit down, 
and help me to finish this bottle of wine.” 

“No, sir,” replied Timothy; “with your permission, 
I prefer doing as the rest of my fraternity. You only leave 
the bottle on the sideboard, and I will steal as much as I 
want ; but, as for sitting down, that will be making too free, 
and if we were seen, would be moreover, very dangerous. 
We must both keep up our characters. They have been ply- 
ing me with all manner of questions below, as to who you 
v/ere — your name, &;c. I resolved that I would give you a 
lift in the world, and I stated that you had just arrived 

from making a grand tour — which is not a fib, after all 

and as for your name, I said that you were at present ^ncog•.” 

“ But v/hy did you make me incog. 

“ Because it may suit you so to be ; ' and it certainly 
is the truth, for you don’t know your real name.” 

We were here interrupted by the waiter bringing in a 
letter upon a salver. “ Here is a letter addressed to ‘I., 
or J. N., on his return from his tour,’ sir,” said he ; “ I 
presume it is for you ?” 

“You may leave it,” said I, with nonchalance. 

The waiter laid the letter on the table, and retired. 

“ How very odd, Timothy — this letter cannot be for me ; 
and yet they are my initials. It is as much like a J as an 
I. Depend upon it, it is some fellow who has just gained 
this intelligence below, and has written to ask for a sub- 
scription to his charity list, imagining that I am flush of 
money, and liberal.” 


OF A FATHEPw 


105 


“I suppose so,” replied Tim; “however, you may 
just as well see what he says.” , ' 

“ But if I open it he will expect something. I had bet- 
ter refuse it.” 

“ O no, leave that to me ; I know how to put people 
off.” 

“ After all it is a fine thing to be a gentleman, and be 
petitioned.” 

I broke open the seal, and found that the letter contained 
an enclosure addressed to another person. The letter was 
as follows : — 

“ My dear Nephew, — Bravo, sir,’ said Timothy ; 

‘ you’ve found an uncle already — you’ll «oon find a fa* 
ther.’] From the great uncertainty of the post, I have not 
ventured to do more than hint at what has come to liglit 
during'this last year, but as it is necessary that you should 
be acquainted with the whole transaction, and as you had 
not decided when you last wrote, whether you would pro- 
secute your intended three months’ trip to Sicily, or return 
from Milan, you may probably arrive when I am out of 
town ; I 'therefore enclose you a letter to Mr. Masterton, 
directing him to surrender to you a sealed packet, lodged 
in his hands, containing all the particulars, the letters 
which bear upon them, and what has been proposed to 
avoid exposure ; which you may peruse at your leisure, 
should you arrive before my return to town. There is no 
doubt but that the affair may be hushed up, and we trust 
that you will see the prudence of the measure ; as, once^ 
known, it will be very discreditable to the family es- 
cutcheon. I always had an idea you were of good 
family,’ interrupted Tim.] I wish you had followed my 
advice, and had not returned; but as you were positive on 
that point, I beg you will now consider the propriety of 
remaining incognito, as reports are already abroad, and 
your sudden return will cause a great deal of surmise. 
Your long absence at the Gottingen University, and your 
subsequent completion of your grand tour, will have 
effaced all remembrance of your person, and you can easily 
be passed off as a particular friend of mine, and I can in- 
troduce you everywhere as such. Take, then, any name 
you may please, provided it be not Smith or Brown, or such 
vulgarism, and on the receipt of this letter, write a note, 


106 ' JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

and send it to my house in Portman Square, just saying, 
‘ so mid so is arrived.’ This will prevent the servants 
from obtaining any information by their prying curiosity ; 
and as I have directed all my letters to be forwarded to 
ray seat in Worcestershire, I shall come up immediately 
that I receive it, and by your putting the name which you 
mean to assume, I shall know whom to ask for when I 
call at the hotel. 

“Your affectionate uncle, 

“ WiNDERMEAR.” 

_ “ One thing is very clear, Timothy,” said I, laying the 

letter on the table ; “ that it cannot be intended for me.” 

“ How do you know, sir, that this lord is not your un- 
cle ? At all events, you must do as he bids you.” 

“ What — go for the papers ! most certainly I shall not.” 

“ Then how in the name of fortune do you expect to 
find your father, when you will not take advantage of such 
an opportunity of getting into society ? It is by getting 
possession of other people’s secrets, that you will worm 
out your own.” 

“ But it is^dishonest, Timothy.” 

“ A letter is addressed to you, in which you have cer- 
tain directions ; you break the seal with confidence, and 
you read what you find is possibly not for you ; but, de- 
pend upon it, Japhet, that a secret obtained is one of the 
surest roads to promotion. Recollect your position ; 
severed from the world, you have to reunite yourself with 
it, to recover your footing, and create an interest. You 
have not those who love you to help you — you must not 
scruple to obtain your object by fear.” 

“ That is a melancholy truth, Tim,” .replied I ; “ and 
I believe I must put my strict morality in ray pocket.” 

“ Do, sir, pray, until you can afford to be moral ; it’s a 
very expensive virtue that ; a deficiency of it made you 
an outcast from the world ; you must not scruple at a 
slight deficiency on your own part, to regain your posi- 
tion.” 

There was so much shrewdness, so much of the wisdom 
of the serpent in the remarks of Timothy, that, added to 
my ardent desire to discover my father, which since my 
quitting the gipsy camp had returned upon me with two- 
fold force, my scruples were overcome, and I resolved 


OF A FATHER. 


107 


that I would not lose such an opportunity. Still I hesi- 
tated, and went up into my room, that I might rellect upon 
what I should do. I went to bed, revolving the matter in 
my mind, and turning over from one position to the other, 
at one time deciding that I would not take advantage of 
the mistake, at another quite as resolved that I would not 
throw away such an opening for the prosecution of my 
search ; at last I fell into an uneasy slumber, and had a 
strange dl-eam. I thought that I was standing upon an 
isolated rock, with the waters raging around me ; the tide 
was rising, and at last the waves were roaring at my feet. 
I was in a state of agony, and expected that in a short 
time I should be swallowed up. The main land was not 
far off, and I perceived well-dressed people in crowds, 
who were enjoying themselves, feasting, dancing, and 
laughing in merry peals. I held out my hand — I shouted 
to them — they saw, and heard me, but heeded me not. 
My horror at being swept away by the tide was dreadful. 
I skrieked as the water rose. At last I perceived some- 
thing unroll itself from the main land, and gradually ad- 
vancing to the island, formed a bridge by which I could 
walk over and be saved. I was about to hasten over, 
when “ Private, and no thoroughfare,” appeared at the 
end nearest me, in large letters of fire. I started back 
with amazement, and would not, dared not pass them. 
When all of a sudden, a figure in white appeared by my 
side, and said to me, pointing to the bridge, “ Self-pre- 
servation is the first law of nature.” 

I looked at the person who addressed me ; gradually 
the figure became darker and darker, until it changed to 
Mr. Cophagus, with his stick up to his nose. “ Japhet, 
all nonsense — very good bridge — urn — walk over — find 
father — and so on.” 1 dashed over the bridge, which ap- 
peared to float on the water, and to be composed of paper, 
gained the other side, and was received with shouts of 
congratulation, and the embraces of the crowd. I per- 
ceived an elderly gentleman come forward ; I knew it was 
my father, and I thre^ myself into his arms. I awoke, 
and found myself rolling on the floor, embracing the bolster 
with all my might. Such was the vivid impression of this 
dream, that I could not turn my thoughts away from it, and 
at last I considered that it was a divine interposition. All 
my scruples vanished, and before the day had dawned I 


108 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

determined that I would follow the advice of Timothy. 
An enthusiast is easily led to believe what he wishes, and 
he mistakes his own feelings for warnings ; the dreams 
arising from his daily contemplations for the interference 
of Heaven. He thinks himself armed by supernatural 
assistance, and warranted by the Almighty to pursue his 
^course, even if that course should be contrary to the Al- 
mighty’s precepts. Thus was I led away by my own 
imaginings, and thus was my monomania increased to an 
impetus which forced before it all consideration of what 
was right or wrong. 

The next morning I told my dream to Timothy, who 
laughed very heartily at my idea of the finger of Provi- 
dence. At last, perceiving that I was angry with him, he 
pretended to be convinced. When I had finished my 
breakfast, I sent to inquire the number in the Square of 
Lord Windermear’s town house, and wrote the following 
simple note to his lordship, “ Japhet Newland has arrived 
from his tour at the Piazza, Covent Garden.” This was 
confided to Timothy, and I then set off with the other let- 
ter to Mr. Masterton, which was addressed to Lincoln’s 
Inn. By reading the addresses of the several legal gentle- 
men, 1 found out that Mr. Masterton was located on the 
second floor. I rang the bell, which had the effect of 
“ Open Sesame,” as the door appeared to swing to admit 
me without any assistance. I entered an ante-room, and 
from thence found myself in the presence of Mr. Master- 
ton — a little old man, with spectacles on his nose, sitting 
at a table covered with papers. He offered me a chair, 
and I presented the letter. 

“I see that I am addressing Mr. Neville,” said he, after 
he had perused the letter. “ I congratulate you on your 
return. You may not, perhaps, remember me ?” 

“ Indeed, sir, I cannot say that I do exactly.” 

“ I could not expect it, my dear sir, you have been so 
long away. You have very much improved in person, I 
must say; yet still,* I recollect your features as a mere 
boy. Without compliment, I had no idea that you would 
ever have made so handsome a man.” I bowed to the 
compliment. “ Have you heard from your uncle ?” 

“ I had a few lines from Lord Windermear, enclosing 
your letter.” 

“ He is well, I hope ?” 


OF A FATHER. 


109 


“Quite well, I believe.” 

Mr. Maslerton then rose, went to an iron safe, and 
brought out a packet of papers, which he put into my 
hand^ ‘ You will read these with interest, Mr. Neville. 
I am a party to the whole transaction, and must venture to 
advise you not to appear in England under your own 
name, until all is settled. Your uncle', I perceive, has 
begged the same.” 

“ And I have assented, sir. I have taken a name in- 
stead of my reaF one.” 

“ May I ask you what it is ?” 

“ I call myself Mr. Japhet Newland.” 

“ Well, it is singular, but perhaps as good as any other. 
I will take it down, in case I have to write to you. Your 
address is ” 

“ Piazza — Cbvent Garden.” 

Mr. Masterton took my name and address. I took the 
papers, and then we both took leave of one another, with 
many expressions of pleasure and good will.’ 

I returned to the hotel, where I found Timothy waiting 
for me, wdth impatience. “Japhet,” said he, “Lord 
Windermear has not yet left town. I have seen him, for 
I was« called back after I left the house by the footman, 
who ran after me — he will be here immediately.” 

“ Indeed,” replied I. “ Pray what sort of person is he, 
and what did he say to you ?” 

“ He sent for me in the dining parlour, where he was at 
breakfast, asked when you arrived, whether you ^vere 
well, and how long I had been in your service. I replied 
that I had not been more than two days, and had just put 
on my liveries. He then desired me to tell Mr. Newland 
that he would call upon him in about two hours. ‘ Then, 
my lord,’ replied I, ‘ I had better go dnd tell him to get 
out of bed.’ 

“ ‘ The lazy dog !’ said he, ‘ nearly one o’clock, and not 
out of bed ; well, go then, and get him dressed as fast as 
you can.’ ” 

Shortly afterwards a handsome carriage with grays drew 
up to the door. His lordship sent in his footman to ask 
whether Mr. Newland was at home. The reply of the 
waiter was, that there was a young gentleman who had 
been there two or three days, who had come from making 
a tour, and his name did begin with an N. “ That will 

VoL. I. ' 'K 


110 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

do, James ; let down the steps.” His lordship alighted, 
was ushered up stairs, and into my room. There we 
stood, staring at each other. 

“ Lord Windermear, I believe,” said I, extending my 
hand. 

“You have recognised me first, John,” said he, taking 
my hand, and looking earnestly in my face. “ Good 
heaven ! is it possible that an, awkward boy should have 
grown up into so handsome a fellow ! I shall be proud of 
/my nephew. Did you remember me when I entered the 
room ?” 

“ To tell the truth, my lord, I did not ; but expecting 
yon, I took it for granted that it must be you.” 

“Nine years make a great difference, John; — but I 
forget, I must now call you Japhet. Have you been read- 
ing the Bible lately, that you fixed upon that strange 
name?” 

“ r»fo, my lord; but this hotel is such a Noah’s ark, that 
it’s no wonder I thought of it.” 

“ You are an undutiful dog, not to ask after your mother, 
sir.” 

“ I was about ” 

“I see — I see,” interrupted his lordship; “but recol- 
lect, John, that she still is your mother. By-the-by, have 
you read the papers yet?” 

“ No, sir,” replied I, “ there they are, (pointing to them 
on the side table.) I really do not like to break the seals.” 

“ That they will not contain pleasant intelligence, I ad- 
mit,” replied his lordship ; “ but until you have read them, 
I do not wish to converse with you on the subject ; there- 
fore,” said he, taking up the packet, and breaking the 
seal, “ I must now insist that you employ this forenoon in 
reading them through. You will dine with me at seven, 
and then we will talk the matter over.” 

“ Certainly, sir, if you wish it, I will read them.” 

“I must insist upon it, John ; and am rather surprised 
at your objecting, when they concern you so particularly.” 

“ I shall obey your orders, sir.” 

“ Well, then, my boy, I shall wish you good morning, 
that you may complete your task before you come to din- 
ner. To-morrow, if you wish it — but recollect, I never 
press young men on these points, as I am aware that they 
sometimes feel it a restraint — if you wish it, I say, you 


OF A FATHES. 


Ill 


may bring your portmanteaus, and take up your quarters 
with me. By-the-by,” continued his lordship, taking 
hold of my coat, “ who made this ?” 

“ The tailor to his Serene Highness the Prince of 
Darmstadt had that honour, my lord,” replied I. 

“Humph! I thought they fitted better in Germany; 
it’s not quite the thing — we must consult Nugee, for with 
that figure and face, the coat ought to be quite correct. 
Adieu, my dear fellow, till seven.” 

His lordship shook hands with me, and I was left alone. 
'J’imolhy came in as soon as his lordship’s carriage had 
driven off. “ Well, sir,” said he, “ was your uncle glad 
to see you ?” 

“ Yes,” replied I ; “ and look, he has broken open the 
seals, and has insisted upon my reading the papers.” 

“ It would be very undutiful in you to refuse, so I had 
better leave you to your task,” said Timothy, smiling, as 
he quitted the room. 

1 sat down and took up the papers. I was immediately 
and strangely interested in all that I read. A secret ! — it 
M-^as, indeed, a secret, involving the honour and reputation 
of the most distinguished families. One that, if known, 
the trumpet of scandal would have bla^zoned forth to the 
disgrace of the aristocracy. It would have occasioned 
bitter tears to some, gratified the petty malice of many, 
satisfied the revenge of the vindictive, and bowed with 
shame the innocent as well as the guilty. It is not ne- 
cessary, nor, indeed, would I, on any account, state any 
more. I finished the last paper, and then fell into a 
reverie. This is, indeed, a secret, thought I ; one that I 
would I never had possessed. In a despotic country my 
life would be sacrificed .to the fatal knowledge — here, 
thank God, my life as well as my liberty is safe. 

The contents of the papers told me all that ^yas neces- 
sary to enable me to support tlie character which I had 
assumed. The reason why the party, I was supposed to 
be, was intrusted with it, was, that he was in a direct 
line eventually heir, and the question was whether he 
would waive his claim with the others, and allow death to 
bury crime in oblivion. I felt that were I in his position 
I should so do — and, therefore, was prepared to give an 
answer to his lordship. I sealed up the papers, dressed 
myself, and wept to dinner ; and after the cloth was re- 


112 • ' JAPHETj IN SEARCH 

moved, Lord Windermear first rising and turning the key 
in the door, said to me, in a low voice, “You have read 
the papers, and what those, nearly as much interested as 
you are in this lamentable business, have decided upon. 
Tell' me, what is your opinion ?” 

“My opinion, my lord, is, that I wish I had never 
known what has come to light this day — that it will be 
most advisable never to recur to the subject, and that the 
proposals made are, in my opinion, most judicious, and 
should be acted upon.” 

“ 'I'hat is well,” replied his lordship; “then all are 
agreed, and I am proud to find you possessed of such ho- 
nour and good feeling. We now drop the subject for 
ever. Are you inclined to leave town with me, or what 
do you intend to do ?” 

“ I prefer remaining in town, if your lordship will in- 
troduce me to some of 4he families of your acquaintance. 
Of course I know no one now.” 

“ Very true ; I will introduce you, as agreed, as Mr. 
Newland. It may be as well that you do not know any 
of our relations, who I have made to suppose that you are 
still abroad — and it would be awkward, when you take 
your right name by-and-by. Do you mean to see your 
mother?” 

“ Impossible, my lord, at present; by-and-by I hope to 
be able.” 

“ Perhaps it’s all for the best. I will now write one 
note to Major (^arbonnell, introducing you as my particular 
friend, and requesting that he will make London agree- 
able. He knows every body, and will take you every- 
where.” 

“ When does your lordship start for the country ?” 

“ To-morrow ; so we may as well part to-night. By- 
the-by, you have credit at Drummond’s, in the name of 
Newland, for a thousand pounds ; the longer you make it 
last you ih'e better.” 

His lordship gave me the letter of introduction. 1 re- 
turned to him the sealed packet, shook hands with him, 
and took my departure. 

“Well, sir,” said Timothy, rubbing his hands, as he 
stood before me, “ what is the news ; for I am dying to 
hear it — and what is this secret ?” 

-- “ With regard to the secret, Tim, a secret it must re'- 


OF A FATHER. 


113 

main. I dare not tell it even to you.” Timothy looked 
rather grave at this reply. 

“No, Timothy, as a man of honour, I cannot.” My 
conscience smote me when I made use of the term ; for, 
as a man of honour, I had no business to be in possession 
of it. “ My dear Timothy, I have done wrong already ; 
do not ask me to do worse.” 

“ I will not, Japhet, but only tell me what has passed, 
and what. you intend to do ?” 

“ That I will, Timothy, with pleasure ;” and I then 
stated all that had passed between his lordship and me. 
“ And now, you observe, Timothy, I have gained what I 
desired, an introduction into the best society.” 

“ And the means of keeping up your appearance,” 
echoed Timothy, rubbing his hands. “ A thousand pounds 
will last a long while.” 

“ It will last a very long while, Tim, for I never wdll 
touch it ; it would be swindling.” 

“So it would,” replied Tim, his countenance falling ; 
“well, I never thought of that.” 

“ I have thought of much more, Tim ; recollect! must 
in a very short time be exposed to Lord Windermear, for 
the real Mr. Neville will soon come home.” 

“Good heavens! what will become of us?” replied 
Timothy, with alarm in his countenance. 

“ Nothing can hurt you, Tim, the anger will be all upon 
me ; but I am prepared to face it, and I would face twice 
as much for the distant hope of finding my father. 
Whatever Lord Windermear may feel inclined to do, he 
can do nothing; and my possession of the secret wilLen- 
sure even more than my safety ; it will afford me his pro- 
tection, if I demand it.” 

“ I hope it may prove so,” replied Timothy, “ but I feel 
a little frightened.” 

“I do not; to-morrow' I .shall give my letter of intro- 
duction, and then I will prosecute my search. So now, 
my dear Tim, good night.” 

The next morning I lost no time in presenting my letter 
of introduction to Major Carbonnell. He lived in apart- 
ments on the first floor in St. James’s Street, and I found 
him at breakfast, in a silk dressing gown. I had made up 
my mind that a little independence always -carries an air 
of fashion. When I entered, therefore, 1 looked at him 

k2 


114 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

with a knowing air, and dropping the letter down on the 
table before him, said, “ There’s something for you to 
read, major ; and in the mean time I’ll refresh myself on 
this chair suiting the action to the word, I threw my- 
self on a chair, amusing myself with tapping the sides of 
my boots with a small cane which I carried in my hand. 

Major Carbonnell, upon whom I cast a furtive eye more 
than once during the time that he was reading the letter, 
was a person of about thirty-fiv6 years of age, well-look- 
ing, but disfigured by the size of his whiskers, which ad- 
vanced to the corners of his mouth, and met under his 
throat. He was tail and well made, and with an air of 
fashion about him that was undeniable. His linen was 
beautifully clear and carefully arranged, and he had as 
many rings on his fingers, and when he was dressed, 
chains and trinkets, as ever were put on by a lady. 

“ My dear sir, allow me the honour of making at once 
your most intimate acquaintance,” said he, rising from his 
chair, and offering his hand, as soon as he had perused the 
letter. “ Any friend of Lord Windermear’s would be 
welcome, but when he brings such an extra recommenda- 
tion in his own appearance, he becomes doubly so.” 

“ Major Carbonnell,” replied I, “ I have seen you but 
two minutes, and I have taken a particular fancy to you ; 
in which I, no doubt, have proved my discrimination. 
Of course you know that I have just returned from making 
a tour?” ^ 

“ So I understand from his lordship’s letter. Mr. New- 
land, my time is at your service. Where are you stav- 
ing?” , ^ ^ 

“ At the Piazza.” 

“ Very good ; I will dine with you to-day ; order some 
mulligatawny, they are famous for it. After dinner we 
will go to the theatre.” 

I was rather susprised at his cool manner of asking 
himself to dine with me and ordering my dinner, but a 
moment’s reflection made me feel what sort of person I 
had to deal with. 

“ Major, I take that as almost an affront. You will dine 
with me to-day ! I beg to state that you must dine with 
me e^very day that we are not invited elsewhere ; and 
what’s more, sir, I shall be most seriously displeased, if 
you do not order the dinner every time that you do dine 


OP A r FATHER. 


115 

with me, and ask whoever yon may think worthy of put- 
ting their legs under our table. Let’s have no doing 
things by halves, major ; I know you now as well as if we 
had been intimate for ten years.” 

The major seized me by the hand. “ My dear New- 
land, I only wish we had known one another ten years, 

as you say — the loss has been mine ; but now you 

have breakfasted, 1 presume ?” 

“Yes; having nothing to do, and not knowing a soul 
after my long absence, I advanced my breakfast about two 
hours, that I might find you at home ; and now I’m at 
your service.” 

“ Say rather I am at yours. I presume you will walk. 
In ten minutes I shall be ready. Either take up the paper, 
or whistle an air or two, or any thing else you like, just to 
kill ten minutes — and I shall be at your command.”^ — 

“ I beg your pardon, NeAvland,” said the major, return- 
ing from his dressing-room, resplendent with chains and 
bijouterie ; “ but I must have your Christian name.” 

“It’s rather a strange one,” replied I ; “it is Japhet.” 

“ Japhet! by the immortal powers. I’d bring an action 
against my godfathers and godmothers ; you ought to re- 
cover heavy damages.” 

“ Then I presume you would not have tho name,” re- 
plied I, with a knowing look, “ for a clear ten thousand 
a year.” 

“ Whew ! that alters the case — it’s astonishing how 
well any name looks in large gold letters. Well, as the 
old gentleman, whoever he might have been, made you 
compensation, you must forgive and forget. Now where 
shall we go ?” 

“ With your permission, as I came to town in these 
clothes, made by a German tailor — Darmstadt’s tailor by- 
the-by — but still if tailor to a prince, not the prince of 
tailors — I would wish you to take me to your own : your 
dress appears very correct.” 

“You show your judgment, Newland, it is correct; 
Stultz will-be delighted to Jiave your name on his books, 
and to do justice to that figure. Jlllons donc.'^ 

We sauntered up St. James’s street, and before I had 
arrived at Stultz’s, I had been introduced to at least twenty 
of the young men about town. The major was most par- 


116 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

ticular in his directions about the clothes, all of which he 
ordered ; and as I knew that he was well acquainted with 
the fashion, I gave him carte blanche. When we left the 
shop, he said, ‘“Now, my dear Newland, I have given 
you a proof of friendship which no other man in England 
has had. Your dress will be the ne plus ultra. There 
are little secrets only known to the initiated, and Stultz is 
aware that this time I am in earnest. I am often asked to 
do the same for others, and I pretend so to do ; but a wink 
from me is sufficient, and Stultz dares not dress them. 
Don’t you want some bijouterie ? or have you any at 
home]” 

“ I may as well have a few trifles,” replied I. 

We entered a celebrated jeweller’s,^and he selected for 
me to the amount of about forty pounds. “ That will do — 
never buy much ; for it is necessary to change every 
three months at least. What is the price of this chain?” 

“ It is only fifteen guineas, major.” 

“Well, I shall take it ; but recollect,” continued the 
major, “ I tell you honestly, I never shall pay you.” 

The jeweller smiled, bowed, and laughed ; the major 
threw the chain round his neck, and we quitted the shop. 

“ At all events, major, they appear not to believe your 
word in that shop.” 

“ My dear fellow, that’s their own fault, not mine. I 
tell them honestly I never will pay them ; and you may 
depend upon it 1 intend most sacredly to keep my word. 
I never do pay anybody, for the best of all possible rea- 
sons, I have no money ; but then I do them a service — I 
make them fashionable, and they know it.” 

“ What debts do you pay then, major?” 

“ Let me think — that requires consideration. Oh ! I 
pay my washerwoman.” 

“ Don’t you pay your debts of honour ?” 

“Debts of honour! why. I’ll tell you the truth; fori 
know that we shall hunt in couples. If I win, I take the 
money ; but if I lose — why, then I forget to pay ; and I al- 
ways tell them so before I sit down to the table. If they 
won’t believe me, it’s not my fault. But what is the 
hour? Come, I must make a few calls, and will introduce 
you.” 

We sauntered on to Grosvenor square, knocked, and 
were admitted into a large, elegantly furnished mansion. 


OF A FATHER. 


117 

The footman announced us — “ My dear Lady Maelstrom, 
allow me the honour of introducing to you my very par- 
ticular friend, Mr. Newland, consigned to my charge by 
my Lord Windermear during his absence. He has just 
arrived from the continent, where he has been making the 
grand tour.” 

Her ladyship honoured me with a smile. “By-the-by, 
major, that reminds me — do me the favour to come to the 
window. Excuse us one moment, Mr. Newland.” 

The major and Lady Maelstrom walked to the window, 
and exchanged a few sentences, and then returned. Her 
ladyship, holding up her finger, and saying to him as they 
came towards me, “ Promise me now that you won’t for- 
get.” 

“Your ladyship’s slightest wishes are to me imperative 
commands,” replied the major, with a graceful bow. 

In a quarter of an hour, during which the conversation 
was animated, we rose to take our leave, when her lady- 
ship came up to me, and offering her hand, said, “ Mr. 
Newland, the friendship of Lord Windermear, and the in- 
troduction of Major Carbonnell, are more than sufficient 
to induce me to put your name down in my visiting list. 
I trust I shall see a great deal of you, and that we shall be 
great friends.” 

' I bowed to this handsome announcement, and we re- 
tired. As soon as we were out' in the square, the major 
observed, “ You saw her take me on one side — it was to 
pump. She has no daughters, but about fifty nieces, and 
match-making is her delight. I told her that I would 
stake my honour -upon your possessing ten thousand a 
year ; liow much more I could not say. I was not far 
wrong, was I ?” 

I laughed. “ What I may be worth, major, I really 
cannot say ; but I trust that the event will prove that you 
are not far wrong. Say no more, my dear fellow.” 

“ I understand — you are not yet of age — of course have 
not yet come into possession of your fortune.” 

“ That is exactly the case, major. I am now but little 
more than nineteen.” 

“You look older; but there is no getting over baptis- 
mal registries with the executors. Newland, you must 
content yourself for the two next years in playing Moses, 
and only peep at the promised land.” 


118 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

We made two or three more calls, and then returned to 
St. James’s street. “ Where shall we go now ? By-the- 
by, don’t you want to go to your banker’s ?” 

“ I will just stroll down with you, and see if they have 
paid any money in,” replied I, carelessly. 

We called at Drummonds’, and I asked them if there 
was any money paid in to the credit of. Mr. Newland. 

“ Yes, sir,” replied one of the clerks; “there is one 
thousand pounds paid in yesterday.” 

“ Very good,” replied I. 

“ How much do you wish to draw for*?” inquired the 
major. 

“I don’t want any,” replied I. “ I have more money 
than I ought to have in my desk at this moment.” 

“Well, then, let us go and order dinner; or perhaps 
you would like to stroll about a little more ; if so, I will 
go and order the dinner. Here’s Harcourt, that’s lucky. 
Harcourt, my dear fellow, know Mr. Newland, my very 
particular friend. I must leave you now ; take his arm, 
Harcourt, for half an hour, and then join us at dinner at the 
Piazza.” 

Mr. Harcourt was an elegant young man of about five- 
and-twenty. Equally pleased with each other’s externals, 
we were soon familiar : he was witty, sarcastic, and well- 
bred. After half an hour’s conversation he asked me what 
L thought of the major. I looked him in the face and 
smiled. “ That look tells me that you will not be his 
dupe, otherwise I had warned you : he is a strange cha- 
racter ; but if you have money enough to afford to keep 
him, you cannot do better, as he is acquainted with, and 
received by, everybody. His connexions are good ; and 
he once had a very handsome fortune, but it was soon run 
out, and he was obliged to sell his commission in the 
Guards. Now he lives upon the world ; which, as Shak- 
speare says, is his oyster ; and he has wit and sharpness 
enough to open it. Moreover, he has some chance of fall- 
ing into a peerage ; that prospect, and his amusing qualities, 
added to his being the most fashionable man about town, 
keeps his head above water. I believe Lord Windermear, 
who is his cousin, very often helps him.” 

“It was Lord Windermear who introduced me to him,” 
observed I. 

“ Then he will not venture to play any tricks upon you, 


OF A FATHER. 


119 

further than eating your dinners, borrowing your money, 
and forgetting to pay it.” 

“ You must acknowledge,” said I, “ he always tells you 
beforehand that he never will pay you.” 

“ And that is the only point in which he adheres to his 
word,” replied Harcourt, laughing ; “ but tell me, am I to 
be your guest to-day ?” 

“ If you will do me that honour.” 

“ I assure you I am delighted to come, as I shall have a 
further opportunity of cultivating your acquaintance.” 

“ Then we had better bend our steps towards the hotel, 
* for it is late,” replied 1 ; and we did so accordingly. 

On our arrival we found the table spread, champagne 
in ice under the sideboard, and apparently every thing 
prepared for a sumptuous dinner, the major on the sofa 
giving directions to the waiter, and Timothy looking all 
astonishment. “ Major,” said I, “I cannot tell you how 
much I am obliged to you for your kindness in taking all 
the trouble off my hands, that I might follow up the agree- 
able introduction you have given me to Mr. Harcourt.” 

“ My dear Newland, say no more ; you will, I dare say, 
do the same for me if I require it, when I give a dinner. 
(Harcourt caught my eye, as if to say, “You may safely 
promise that.”) But, Newland, do you know that the 
nephew of Lord Windermear has just arrived? Did you 
meet abroad ?” 

“No,” replied I, somewhat confused; but I soon re- 
covered myself. As for Tim, he bolted out of the room. 
“What sort of a person is he?”' 

“ That you may judge for yourself, my dear fellow, for 
I asked him to join us, I must say, more gut of compli- 
ment to Lord Windermear than any thing else ; for I am 
afraid that even I could never make a gentleman of him. 
But take Harcourt with you to your room, and by the 
time you have washed your hands, I will have dinner on 
the table. I took the liberty of desiring your valet to 
show me in about ten minutes ago. He’s a shrewd 
fellow that of your’s ; where did you pick him up ?” 

“ By mere accident,” replied I ; “ come, Mr. Harcourt.” 

On our return we found the real Simon Pure, Mr. Est- 
court, sitting with the major, who introduced us, and 
dinner being served, we sat down to table. 

Mr. Estcourt was a young man, about my own age, but 


120 


JAPIIET, IN SEARCH 


not SO tall by two or three inches. His features were 
prominent, but harsh ; and when I saw him, I was not at 
all surprised at Lord Windermear’s expressions of satis- 
faction, when he supposed that I was his nephew. His 
countenance was dogged and sullen, and he spoke little ; 
he appeared to place an immense value upon birth, and 
hardly deigned to listen, except the aristocracy were the 
subject of discourse. I treated him with marked defer- 
ence, that I might form an acquaintance, and found before 
we parted that night that I had succeeded. Our dinner 
was excellent, and we were all, except Mr. Estcourt, in 
high good humour. We sat late — too late to go to the 
theatre, and promising to meet the next day at noon, Har- 
court and the major took their leave. 

Mr. Estcourt had indulged rather too much, and after 
their departure became communicative. We sat up for 
more than an hour ; he talked of nothing but his family 
and his expectations. I took this opportunity of discover- 
ing what his feelings were likely to be when he was made 
acquainted with the important secret which was in my 
possession. I put a case somewhat similar, and asked 
him whether in such circumstances he would waive his 
right for a time, to save the honour of his family. 

“ No, by G — d !” replied he, “ I never would. What ! 
give up even for a day my right — conceal my true rank 
for the sake of relatives ? never — nothing would induce 
me.” 

I was satisfied, and then casually asked him if he had 
written to Lord Windermear to inform him of his arrival. 

“No,” replied he; “I shall write to-morrow.” He 
soon after retired to hi« own apartment, and I rang for 
Timothy. 

“Good heavens, sir!” cried Timothy, “what is all 
this — and what are you about ? I am frightened out of 
my wits. Why, sir, our money will not Inst two 
months.” 

“ I do not expect it will last much longer, Tim ; but it 
cannot be helped. Into society I must get — and to do so 
must pay for it.” 

But, sir, putting the expense aside, what are we to do 
about this Mr. Estcourt? All must be found out.” 

, “ I intend that it shall be found out, Tim,” replied I ; 

“ but not yet. He will write to his uncle to-morrow ; you 


OP A FATHER. 


121 


must obtain the letter, for it must not go. I must first 
have time to establish myself, and then Lord Windermear 
may find out his error as soon as he pleases.” 

“ Upon my honour, Japhet, you appear to be afraid of 
nothing.” 

“I fear nothing, Tim, when I am following up the 
object of my wishes. I will allow no obstacles to stand in 
my way, in my search after my father.” 

“ Really, you seem to be quite mad on that point, Ja- 
phet.” 

“ Perhaps I may be, Tim,” replied I, thoughtfully. 
“ At all events, let us go to bed now, and I will tell you 
to-m,orrow morning all the events of this day.” 

Mr. Estcourt wrote his letter, which Tim very offi- 
ciously offered to put into the post, instead of which we 
put it between the bars of the grate. 

I must now pass over about three weeks, during which 
I became very intimate with the major and Mr. Harcourt, 
and was introduced by them to the clubs, and almost every 
person of fashion. The idea of my wealth, and my very 
handsome person and figure, insured me a warm reception, 
and I soon became one of the stars of the day. During 
this time I also gained the entire confidence of Mr. Est- 
court, who put letter after letter into the hands of Timothy, 
who of course put them into the usual place. I pacified 
him as long as I could, by expressing my opinion, that his 
lordship was on a visit to some friends in the neighbour- 
hood of his seat ; but at last he would remain in town no 
longer. You may go now, thought I, I feel quite safe. 

It was about five days after his departure, as I was saun- 
tering, arm in arm with the major, who generally dined 
with me about five days in the week, that I perceived the 
carriage of Lord Windermear, with his lordship in it. He 
saw us, and pulling his check-string, alighted, and coming 
up to us, with the colour mounting to his forehead with 
emotion, returned the salute of the major and me. 

“Major,” said he, “you will excuse me, but I am 
anxious to have some conversation with Mr. Newland; 
perhaps,” continued his lordship, addressing me, “you 
will do me the favour to take a seat in my carriage ?” 

Fully prepared, I lost none of my self-possession, but, 
thanking his lordship, I bowed to him, and stepped in. 
His lordship followed, and saying to the footman, “ Home 
VoL. I. L 


122 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

—drive fast,” fell back in the carriage, and never uttered 
one word until we had arrived, and had entered the dining- 
parlour. He then took a few steps up and down, before 
he said, “ Mr. Newland, or whatever your name may be, 
I perceive that you consider the possession of an important 
secret to be your safeguard. To state my opinion of 
your conduct is needless ; who you are, and what you are, 
I know not; but,” continued he, no longer controlling his 
anger ; “ you certainly can have no pretensions to the cha- 
racter of a gentleman.” 

“ Perhaps your lordship,” replied I, calmly, “ will 
inform me upon what you may ground your inference.” 

“ Did you not, in the first place, open a letter addressed 
to another ?” 

“ My lord, I opened a letter brought to me wdth the 
initials of my name, and at the time I opened it, I fully 
believed that it was intended for me.” 

“We will grant that, sir ; but after you had opened it 
you must have known that it was for some other person.” 

“I will not deny that, my lord.” 

“Notwithstanding which, you apply to my lawyer, 
representing yourself as another person, to obtain sealed 
papers.” 

“I did, my lord; but allow me to say, that I never 
should have done so, had I not been warned by a dream.” 

“ By a dream !” 

“ Yes, my lord. I had determined not to go for them, 
when in a dream I was ordered so to do.” 

. “ Paltry excuse! and then you break private seals.” 

“ Nay, my lord, although I did go for the papers, I 
could not, even with the idea of supernatural interposition, 
make up my mind to break the seals. If your lordship 
will recollect, it was you who broke the seals, and insisted 
upon my reading the papers.” 

“ Yes, sir, under your false name.” 

“ It is the name by which I go at present, although I 
acknowledge it is false ; but that is not my fault — I have 
no other at present.” 

“It is very true, sir, that in all I have now mentioned, 
the law will not reach you ; but recollect, that by assum- 
ing another person’s name ” 

“ I never did, my lord,” interrupted I. 

“ Well, I may say, by inducing me to believe that you 


OF A FATHEPt. 


123 


'were my nephew, you .have obtained money under false 
pretences ; and for that I now have you in my power.” 

“ My lord, I never asked you for the money ; you your- 
self paid it into the banker’s hands, to my credit, and to 
my own name. I appeal to you now, whether, if you so 
deceive yourself, the law can reach me 

“ Mr. Newland, I will say, that much as I regret what 
has passed, I regret more than all the rest, that one so 
young, so prepossessing, so candid in appearance, should 
prove such an adept in deceit. Thinking you were my 
nephew, my heart warmed towards you, and I must con- 
fess, that since I have seen my real nephew, the mortifica- 
tion has been very great.” 

“ My lord, I thank you ; but allow me to observe, that I 
am no swindler. Your thousand pounds you will find _ 
safe in the bank, for penury would not have induced me 
to touch it. But now that your lordship appears more 
cool, will you do me the favour to listen to me ? When 
you have heard my life up to the present, and my motives 
for what I have done, you will then decide how far I am 
to blame.” 

His lordship took a chair, and motioned to me to take 
another. I narrated what had occurred when I was left at 
the Foundling, and gave him a succinct account of my 
adventures subsequently — my determination to nud 
father— the dream which induced me to go for the papers — 
and all that the reader has already been acquainted with. 
His lordship evidently perceived the monomania which led 
me, and heard me with great attention. ' 

“ You certainly, Mr. Newland, do not stand so low in 
lYiy opinion as you did before this explanation, and I must 
make allowances for the excitement under which I perceive 
you to labour on one subject; but now, sir, allow me to 
put one question, and beg that you will answer candidly. 
What price do you demand for your secrecy on this im- 
portant subject ?” _ _ _ • ' 1 • 

“ My lord 1” replied I, rising with dignity ; “ this is the 
greatest affront you have put upon me yet ; still I will 
name the price by which I will solemnly bind myself, by 
all my future hopes of finding my father in this world, and 
of finding an eternal Father in the next, and that price, my 
lord, is a return of your good opinion.” 

His lordship also rose, and walked up and down the 


124 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

room with much agitation in his manner. “ What am I 
to make of you, Mr. Newland ?” 

“ My lord, if I were a swindler, I should have taken 
your money ; if I had. wished to avail myself of the secret, 
I might have escaped with all the documents, and made 
my own terms. 1 am, my lord, nothing more than an 
abandoned child, trying all he can to find his father.” 
My feelings overpowered me, and I burst into tears. As 
soon as I could recover myself, I addressed his lordship, 
who had been watching me in silence, and not without 
emotion. “ I have one thing more to say to you, my 
lord.” I then mentioned the conversation between Mr. 
Estcourt and myself, and pointed out the propriety of not 
making him a party to the important secret. 

His lordship allowed me to proceed without interrup- 
tion, and after a few moments’ thought, said, “ I believe 
that you are right, Mr. Newland ; and I now begin to 
think that it was better that this secret should have been 
intrusted to you than to him. You have now conferred 
an obligation on me', and may command me. I believe 
you to be honest, but a little mad, and I beg your pardon 
for the pain which I have occasioned you.” 

“ My lord, I am more than satisfied.” 

“ Can I be of any assistance to you, Mr. Newland ?” 

^ “If, my lord, you could at all assist me, or direct me in 
my search ” 

“ Then I am afraid I can be of little use ; but I will give 
you the means of prosecuting your search, and in so doing, 

I am doing but an act of justice, for in introducing you to 
Major Carbonnell, I am aware that I must have very much 
increased your expenses. It was an error which must be 
repaired ; and therefore, Mr. Newland, I beg you will con- 
sider the money at the bank as yours, and make use of it 
to enable you to obtain your ardent wish.” 

“ My lord ” 

“ I will not be denied, Mr. Newland; and if you feel 
any delicacy on the subject, you may take it as a loan, to 
be repaid when you find it convenient. Do not, for a 
moment, consider that it is given to you because you pos- 
sess an important secret, for I will trust entirely to your 
honour on that score.” 

“ Indeed, my lord,” replied I, “ your kindness over- 
whelms me, and I feel as if, in you, I had already almost 


OF A FATHER. 125 

found a father. Excuse me, my lord, but did your lord- 
ship ever — ever ” 

“ I know what you would say, my poor fellow: no, I 
never did. I never was blessed with children. Had I 
been, 1 should not have felt that I was disgraced by having 
one resembling you. Allow me to entreat you, Mr. New- 
land, that you do not suffer the mystery of your birth to 
weigh so heavy on your mind ; and now I wish you good 
morning, and if you think I can be useful to you, I beg 
that you will not fail to let me know.” 

“ May Heaven pour down blessings on your head,” 
replied I, kissing respectfully his lordship’s hand ; “ and 
may my father, when I find him, be as like unto you as 
possible.” I made my obeisance, and quitted the house. 

I returned to the hotel, for my mind liad been much 
agitated, and I wished for quiet, and the friendship of 
Timothy. As soon as I arrived I told him all that had 
passed. 

“Indeed,” replied Timothy, “things do now wear a 
pleasant aspect ; for I am afraid, that without that thousand, 
we could not have carried on for a fortnight longer. The 
bill here is very heavy, and I’m sure the landlord wishes 
to see the colour of his money.” 

“ How much do you think we have left ? It is high 
time, Timothy, that we now make up our accounts, and 
arrange some plans for the future,” replied I. “I have 
paid the jeweller and the tailor, by the advice of the major, 
who says, that you should always pay your first bills as 
soon as possible, and all your subsequent bills as late as , 
possible ; and if put off sine die, so much the better. In 
fact, I owe very little now but the bill here ; I will send for 
it to-night.” 

. Here we were interrupted by the entrance of the land- 
lord. “ O Mr. Wallace, you are the very person I wished 
to see ; let me have my bill, if you please.” 

“It’s not of the least consequence,’ sir,” replied he; 

“ but if you wish it, I have posted down to yesterday,” 
and the landlord left the room. 

“You were both of one mind at ail events,” said 
Timothy, laughing; “ for he had the bill in his hand, and 
concealed it the moment you asked for it.” 

In about ten minutes the landlord reappeared, and pre- 
senting the bill upon a salver, made his bow and retired. 

'L 2 


126 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

I looked it over; it amounted to £104, which, for little 
more than three weeks, was pretty well. Timothy 
shrugged up his shoulders, while I ran over the items. 
“ I do not see that there is any thing to complain of, Tim,” 
observed I, when I came to the bottom of it; “ but I do 
see that living here, with the major keeping me an open 
house, will never do. Let us see how much money we 
have left.” 

Tim brought the dressing-case in which our cash was 
deposited, and we found, that after paying the waiters, 
and a few small bills not yet liquidated, that our whole 
stock was reduced to fifty shillings. 

“ Merciful Heaven ! what an escape,” cried Timothy ; 
“if it had not been for this new supply, what should we 
have done ?” 

“ Very badly, Timothy ; but the money is well spent, 
after all. I have now entrance into the first circles. I 
can do without Major Carbonnell ; at all events, I shall 
quit this hotel, and take furnished apartments, and live at 
the clubs. I know how to put him off.” 

I laid the money on the salver, and desired Timothy to 
ring for the landlord, when, who should come up but the 
major and Harcourt. “ Why, Newland ! what are you 
going to do with that money ?” said the major. 

“ I am paying my bill, major.” 

“Paying your bill, indeed ; let us see — £104. O this 
is a confounded imposition. You mustn’t pay this;” At 
this moment the landlord entered. “Mr. Wallace,” said 
the major, “ my friend Mr. Newland was about, as you 
may see, to pay you the whole of your demand ; but allow 
me to observe, that being my very particular friend, and 
the Piazza having been particularly recommended by me, 
I do think that your charges are somewhat exorbitant. I 
shall certainly advise Mr. Newland to leave the house to- 
morrow, if you are not more reasonable.” 

“ Allow me to observe, major, that my reason for send- 
ing for my bill, was to pay it before I went into the coun- 
try, which I must do lo-morrow for a few days.” 

“ Then I shall certainly recommend Mr. Newland not to 
come here when he returns, Mr. Wallace, for 1 hold my- 
self, to a certain degree, after the many dinners we have 
ordered here, and of which I have partaken, as I may say, 
particeps criminis, or in other words, as having been a 


OP A FATHER. 


127 


party to this extortion. Indeed, Mr. Wallace, some re- 
duction must be made, or you will greatly hurt the credit 
of your house.” 

Mr. Wallace declared, that really he had made nothing 
but the usual charges ; that he would look over the bill 
again, and see what he could do. 

“ My dear Newland,” said the major, “I have ordered 
your dinners, allow me to settle your bill. Now, Mr. 
Wallace, suppose we take off one-third?'*' 

“ One-third, Major Carbonnell ! I should be a loser.” 

“ I am not exactly of your opinion ; but let me see — 
now take your choice. Take off ^620, or you lose my 
patronage, and that of all my friends. Yes or no ?” 

The landlord, with some expostulation, at last consent- 
ed, and he receipted the bill, leaving ^620 of the money on 
the salver, made his bow, and retired. 

“ Rather fortunate that I slipped in, my dear Newland ; 
now there are d620 saved. By-the-by, I’m short of cash. 
You’ve no objection to let me have this? I shall never 
pay you, you know.” 

“I do know you never will pay me, major; neverthe- 
less, as I should have paid it to the landlord had you not 
interfered, I will lend it to you.” 

“You are a good fellow, Newland,” said the major, 
pocketing the money. “ If I had borrowed it, and you had 
thought you would have had it repaid, I should not have 
thanked you; but as you lend me with your eyes open, 
it is nothing more than a very delicate manner of obliging 
me, and I tell you candidly, that I will not forget it. So 
you really are off to-morrow ?” 

“ Yes,” replied I, “ I must go, for I find that I am not 
to make ducks and drakes of my money, until I come into 
possession of my property.” 

“ I see, my dear fellow. Executors are the very devil ; 
they have no feeling. Never mind ; there’s a way of get- 
ting to windward of them. I dine with Harcourt, and he 
has come to ask you to join us.” 

“ With pleasure.” 

“ I shall expect you at seven, Newland,” said Harcourt, 
as he quitted the room with the major. 

“ Dear me, sir, how could you let that gentleman w'alk 
off with your money ?” cried Timothy. “ I was just rub- 


128 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

bing my hands with the idea that we were ^620 better olT 
than we thought, and aw'ay it went, like smoke.” 

“And will never come back again, Tim; but never 
mind that, it is important that I make a friend of him, and 
his friendship is only to be bought. * I shall have value 
received. And now, Tim, we must pack up, for I leave 

this to-morrow morning. I shall go down to , and 

see little Fleta.” » 

I dined with Harcourt; the major was rather curious to 
know what it was which appeared to flurry Lord Winder- 
mear, and what had passed between us. I told him that his 
lordship was displeased on money matters, but that all was 
right, only that I must be more careful for the future. 
“ Indeed, major, 1 think I shall take lodgings. I shall be 
more comfortable, and better able to receive my friends.” 

Harcourt agreed with me, that it was a much better 
plan, when the major observed, “ Why, Newland, I have 
a room quite at your service ; suppose you come and live 
with me ?” 

“ I am afraid I shall not save by that,” replied I, laugh- 
ing, “ for you will not pay your share of the bills.” 

“No, upon my honour I will not ; so I give you fair 
warning; but as I always dine with you when 1 do not 
dine elsev/here, it will be a saving to you — for you v/ill 
save your lodgings, Newland ; and you know the house 
is my own, and I let off the rest of it ; so, as far as that 
bill is concerned, you will be safe.” 

“ Make the best bargain you can, Newland,” said Har- 
court; “ accept his offer, for depend upon it, it will be a 
saving in the end.” 

“ It certainly deserves consideration,” replied I ; “ and 
the major’s company must be allowed to have its due 
weight in the scale ; if Carbonnell will promise to be a 
little more economical ” 

“ I will, my dear fellow — I will act as your steward, 
and make your money last as long as I can, for my own 
sake, as well as yours. Is it a bargain ? I have plenty 
of room for your servant, and if he will assist me a little 
I will discharge my own.” I then consented to the 
arrangement. 

The next day I went to the banker’s, drew out ^150, 
and set off with Timothy for . Fleta threw 


OF A FATHER. 


129 


herself into my arms, and sobbed with joy. When I told 
her Timothy was outside, and wished to see her, she 
asked why he did not come in ; and, to show how much 
she had been accustomed to see without making remarks, 
when he made his appearance in his livery she did not by 
her countenance express the least surprise, nor, indeed, did 
she put any questions to me on the subject. The lady who 
kept the school praised her very much for docility and 
attention, and shortly after left the room. Fleta then 
took the chain from around her neck into her hand, and 
told me that she did recollect something about it, 
which was, that the lady whom she remembered wore a 
long pair of ear-rings of the same make and materials. 
She could not, however, call to mind any thing else. I 
remained with the little girl for three hours, and then 
returned to London — taking my luggage, and installed 
myself into the apartments of Major Carbonnell. 

The major adhered to his promise ; we certainly lived 
well, for he could not live otherwise ; but in every other 
point, he was very careful not to add to expense. The 
season was now over, and everybody of consequence 
quitted the metropolis. To remain in town would be to 
lose caste, and we had a conference where we should pro- 
ceed. 

“Newland,” said the major, “ you have created a sen- 
sation this season, which has done great honour to my 
patronage ; but I trust next spring, that I shall see you 
form a good alliance, for believe me, out of the many 
heartless beings we have mingled with, there are still not 
only daughters, but mothers, who are not influenced by 
base and sordid views.” 

“ Why, Carbonnell, I never heard you venture upon so 
long a moral speech before.” 

“ True, Newland, and it may be a long while before I 
do so again ; the world is my oyster, which I must open, 
that I may live ; but recollect I am only trying to recover 
my own, which the world has swindled me out of. There 
was a time when I was even more disinterested, more 
confiding, and more innocent, than you were when I first 
took you in hand. I suffered, and was ruined by my good 
qualities ; and I now live and do well by having discarded 
them. We must fight the world with its own weapons j 


130 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

but stili, as I said before, there is some good in it, some 
pure ore amongst the dross ; and it is possible to find 
high rank and large fortune, and at the same time an inno- 
cent mind. If you do marry, I will try hard but you shall 
possess both ; not that fortune can be of much conse- 
quence to you.” 

“ Depend upon it, Carbonnell, I never will marry with- 
out fortune.” 

“ I did not know that I had schooled you so w'ell ; be it 
so — it is but fair that you should expect it ; and it shall be 
an item in the match if I have any thing to do with it.” 

“But why are you so anxious that I should marry, Car- 
bonnell ?” 

“Because I think you will, in all probability, avoid the 
gaming table, which I should have taken you to myself, 
had you been in possession of your fortune when I first 
knew you, and have had my share of your plucking ; but 
now I do know you, I have that affection for you, that I 
think it better you should not lose your all ; for observe, 
Newland, my share of your spoliation would not be more 
than what I have, and may still receive, from you ; and if 
you marry and settle down, there will always be a good^ 
house and a good table for me, as long as I find favour 
with your wife ; and' at all events, a friend in need, that I 
feel convinced of. So now you have my reason ; ^ome 
smack of the disinterestedness of former days, others of 
my present worldliness ; you may believe which you 
please.” And the major laughed as he finished his 
speech. 

“ Carbonnell,” replied I, “ I will believe that the better 
feelings predominate, that the world has made you what you 
are ; and that had you not been ruined by the world, you 
would have been disinterested and generous ; even now, 
your real nature often gains the ascendancy, and 1 am sure 
that in all that you have done, which is not defensive, 
your property, and not your will, has consented. Now, 
blunted by habit and time, the suggestions of conscience 
do not often give you any uneasiness.” 

“You are very right, my dear fellow,” replied the 
major; “and in having a better opinion of me than the 
world in general, you do me, I trust, no more than justice. 
I will not squander your fortune, when you come to it; if 


OF A FATHER. 


131 

I can help it ; and you’ll allow that’s a very handsome 
promise on my part.” 

“I’ll defy you to squander my fortune,” replied I, 
laughing. 

“ Nay, don’t defy me, Newland, for if you do, you’ll 
put me on my mettle. Above all, don’t lay me a bet, for 
that will be still more dangerous. We have only spent 
about four hundred of the thousand since we have lived to- 
gether, which I consider highly economical. What do you 
say, shall "we go to Cheltenham ? You will find plenty of 
Irish girls, looking out for husbands^ who will give you a 
warm reception.” 

“ I hate your fortune and establishment hunters,” re- 
plied I. 

“ I grant that they are looking out for a good match, so 
are all the world ; but let me do them justice. Although, 
if you proposed, in three days they would accept you ; 
yet once married, they make the very best wives in the 
world. But recollect we must go somewhere ; and I think 
Cheltenham is as good a place as any other. I do not 
mean for a wife, but it will suit my own views.” 

This last observation decided me, and in a few days we 
were at Cheltenham ; and having made our appearance at 
the rooms, were soon in the vortex of society. “New- 
land,” said Carbonnell, “ I dare say you find time hang 
rather iieavy in this monotonous place.” 

“ Not at all,” replied I ; “ what with dining cut, danc- 
ing, and promenading, I do very well.” 

“ But we must do better. Tell me, are you a good hand 
at whist?” 

“ Not by any means. Indeed, -I hardly know the 
game.” 

“It is a fashionable and necessary accomplishment. I 
must make you master of it, and our mornings shall be de- 
dicated to the work.” 

“ Agreed,” replied I ; and from that day every morning 
after breakfast till four o’clock, the major and I were shut 
up, playing two dummies, under his instruction. Adept 
as he was, I very soon learnt all the finesse and beauty of 
the game. 

“ You will do now, Newland,” said the major one 
morning, tossing the cards away. “ Recollect, if you are 


132 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

asked to play, and I have agreed, do not refuse ; but we 
must always play against each other.” 

“ I don’t see what we shall gain by that,” replied I ; 
“ for if I win, you’ll lose.” 

“Never do you mind that, only follow my injunctions, 
and play as high as they choose. We only stay here 
three weeks longer, and must make the most of our time.” 

I confess I was quite puzzled at what might be the 
major’s intentions ; but that night we sauntered into the 
club. Not having made our appearance before, we were 
considered as new hands by those who did not know the 
major, and were immediately requested to make up a 
game, “ Upon my word, gentlemen, in the first place, I 
play very badly,” replied the major; “ and in the next,” 
continued he, laughing, “ if I lose, I never shall pay you, 
for I’m cleaned out.” 

The way in which the major said this only excited a 
smile ; he was not believed, and I was also requested to 
take a hand. “ I’ll not play with the major,” observed I, 

“ for he plays badly, and has bad luck into the bargain ; 

I might as well lay my money down on the table.” 

This was agreed to by the other parties, and we sat 
down. The first rubber of short whist was won by the 
major and his partner ; ♦with the bets it amounted to eigh- 
teen pounds. I pulled out my purse to pay the major; 
but he refused, saying, “No, Newland, pay my partner; 
and with you, sir,” said he, addressing my partner, “I . 
will allow the debt to remain until we rise from the table. 
Newland, we are not going to let you off yet, I can tell 
you.” 

I paid my eighteen pounds, and we recommenced. Al- 
though his partner did not perhaps observe it, for he was 
but an indifferent player, or if he did observe it, had the 
politeness not to say any thing, the major now played 
very badly. He lost three rubbers one after another, and 
with bets and stakes, they amounted to one hundred and 
forty pounds. At the end of the last rubber he threw up 
the cards, exclaiming against his luck, and declaring that 
he would play no more. “How are we now, sir?” said 
he to my partner. 

“ You owed me, I think, eighteen pounds.” 

“ Eighteen from one hundred and forty, leaves one hun- 


OP A FATHER. 


133 


dred and twenty-two pounds, which I now owe you. 
You must, I’m afraid, allow me to be your debtor,” con- 
tinued the major, in a most insinuating^ manner. “ I did 
not come here with the intention of playing. I presume I 
shall find you here to-morrow night.” 

The gentleman bowed and appeared quite satisfied. 
Major Carbonnell’s partner paid me one hundred and forty 
pounds, which I put in my pocket book, and we quitted 
the club. 

As soon as we were in the street, I commenced an in- 
quiry as to the major’s motives. “ Not one word, my 
dear fellow, until we are at home,” replied he. As soon 
as we arrived, he threw himself in a chair, and crossing 
his legs, commenced: — “You observe, Newland, that I 
am very careful that you should do nothing to injure your 
character. As for my own, all the honesty in the world 
will not redeem it ; nothing but a peerage will ever set me 
right again in this world, and a coronet will cover a mul- 
titude of sins. I have thought it my duty to add some- 
thing to our finances, and intend to add very considerably 
to them before we leave Cheltenham. You have won one 
hundred and tAventy-eight pounds.” 

“ Yes,” replied I ; “ but you have lost it.” 

“ Granted ; but as in most cases I never mean to pay 
my losses, you see that it must be a winning speculation 
as long as we play against each other.” 

“ I perceive,” replied I ; “ but am not 1 a confederate ?” 

“No; you paid when you lost, and took your money 
when you won. Leave me to settle my own debts of 
honour.” 

“But you will meet him again to-morroAv night.” 

“ Yes, and I will tell you why. I never thought it pos- 
sible that we could have met two such bad players at the 
club. We must now play against them, and we must win 
in the long run ; by which means I shall pay off the 
debt I G^e him, and you will win and pocket money.” 

“ Ah,” replied I, “ if you mean to allow him a chance 
for his money, I have no objection — that will be all fair.” 

“ Depend upon it, Newland, when I know that people 
play as badly as they do, I will not refuse them ; but 
when Ave sit doAvn with others, it must be as it Avas before 
— we must play against each other, and I shall owe the 
money. I told the fellow that I never Avould pay him.” 

VoL. I. M 


134 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

“ Yes ; but he thought y'ou were only joking.’^ 

“ That is his fault — I was in earnest. I could not have 
managed this had it not been that you are known to be a 
young man of ten thousand pounds per annum, and sup- 
posed to be my dupe. I tell you so candidly ; and now, 
good night.” 

I turned the affair over in nriy mind as I undressed — it 
was not honest — but I paid when I lost, and I only took 
the money when I won, — still I did not like it; but the 
bank notes caught my eye as they lay on the table, and-: — 
I was satisfied. Alas ! how easy are scruples removed 
when we want money ! How many are there Avho, when 
in a state of prosperity and affluence, when not tried by 
temptation, would have blushed at the bare idea of a disho- 
nest action,' who have raised and held up their hands in 
abhorrence, when they have heard that others have been 
found guilty ; and yet, when in adversity, have themselves 
committed the very acts which before they so loudly con- 
demned ! How many of the other sex, who have ex- 
pressed their indignation and contempt at those who have 
fallen, who, when tempted, have fallen themselves ! Let 
us therefore be charitable ; none of us can tell to what we 
may be reduced by circumstances ; and when we acknow- 
ledge that the error is great, let us feel sorrow and pity 
rather than indignation, and pray that we also ’may not be 
“ led into temptatio7i'^ 

As agreed upon, the next evening we repaired to the 
club, and found the two gentlemen ready to receive us. 
This time the major refused to play unless it was with me, 
as I had such good fortune, and no difficulty was made by 
our opponents. We sat down, and played till four o’clock 
in the morning. At first, notwithstanding our good play, 
fortune favoured our adversaries ; but the luck soon 
changed, and the result of the evening was, that the major 
had a balance in his favour of forty pounds, and I rose a 
winner of one hundred and sQventy-one pounrls, so that in 
two nights we had won three hundred and forty-two 
pounds. For nearly three weeks this continued, the ma- 
jor not paying when not convenient, and we quitted Chel- 
tenham with about eight hundred pounds in our pockets ; 
the major having paid about one hundred and twenty 
pounds to different people wdio frequented the club ; but 
they were Irishmen, who were not to be trifled with. I 


OF A FATHER. 


135 


proposed to the major that we should pay those debts, as 
there still would be a large surplus : he replied, “ Give 
me the money.” I did so. “Now,” continued he, “so 
far your scruples are removed, as you will have been 
strictly honest ; but, my dear fellow, if you know how 
many debts of this sort are due to me, of which I never 
did touch one farthing, you would feel as I do — that it is 
excessively foolish to part with money. I have them all 

booked here, and may some day pay when convenient ; 

but, at present, most decidedly it is not so.” The major 
put the notes into his pocket, and the conversation was 
dropped. 

The next morning we had ordered our horses, when 
Timothy came up to me, and made a sign, as we were at 
breakfast, for me to come out. I followed him. 

“ Oh ! sir, I could not help telling you, but there is a 
gentleman with ” 

“With what?” replied I, hastily. 

“ With your nose, sir, exactly — and in other respects 
very like you — just about the age your father should be.” 

“ Where is he, Timothy ?” replied I, all my feelings in 
* search of my father,’ rushing into my mind. 

“ Down below, sir, about to set off in a post-chariot and 
four, now waiting at the door.” 

I ran down with my breakfast napkin in my hand, and 
hastened to the portico of the hotel — he was in his car- 
riage, and the porter was then shutting the door. I looked 
at him. He was as Timothy said, very like me indeed, 
the nose exact. I was breathless, and I continued to gaze. 

“ All right,” cried the ostler. 

“ I beg your pardon, sir ,” said I, addressing the 

gentleman in the carriage, who, perceiving a napkin in my 
hand, probably took me for one of the waiters, for he 
replied very abruptly, ‘ I have remembered you and 
pulling up the glass, away wheeled the chariot, the nave 
of the hind wheel striking me a blow on the thigh which 
fiiumbed it so, that it was with difficulty I could limp up to 
our apartments, when I threw myself on the sofa in a 
state of madness and despair. 

“ Good heavens, Newland, what is the matter?” cried 
the major. 

“ Matter,” replied I, faintly. “ I have seen my father.” 

“Your father, Newland, you must be mad. He was 


136 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

dead before you could recollect him — at least so you told 
me. How then, even if it were his gliost, could you 
have recognised him ?” 

The major’s remarks reminded me of the imprudence I 
had been guilty of. 

“ Major,” replied I, “ I believe I am very absurd; but 
he was so like me, and I have so often longed after my 
father, so long wished to see him face to face — that — that 
I’m a great fool, that’s the fact.” 

“You must go to the next world, my good fellow, to 
meet him face to face, that’s clear ; and I presume, upoh a 
little consideration, you will feel inclined to postpone your 
journey. Very often in your sleep I have heard you 
talk about your father, and wondered why you should 
think so much about him.” 

“ I cannot help it,” replied I. “ From my earliest days 
my father has ever been in my thoughts.” 

“ I can only say, that very few sons are half so dutiful 
to their fathers’ memories — but finish your breakfast, and 
then we start for London.” 

I complied with, his request as well as I could, and we 
were soon on our road. I fell into a reverie — my object 
was to again find out this person, and I quietly directed 
Timothy to ascertain from the postboys the directions he 
gave at the last stage. The major, perceiving me not 
inclined to talk, made but few observations ; one, however, 
struck me. “ Windermear,” said he, “ I recollect one 
day; when I was praising you, said carelessly, ‘ that you 
were a fine young man, but a little tete montee upon one 
point.’ I see now it must have been upon this.” I made 
no reply, but it certainly was a strange circumstance that 
the major never had any suspicions from this point — yet 
he certainly never had. We had once or twice talked over 
my affairs. I had led him to suppose that my father and 
mother died in my infancy, and that I should have had a 
large fortune when I came of age ; but this had been 
entirely by indirect replies, not by positive assertions: 
the fact was, that the major, who was an adept in all 
deceit, never had an idea that he could have been 
deceived by one so young, so prepossessing, and apparent- 
ly ingenuous as myself. He had in fact deceived himself. 
His ideas of my fortune arose entirely from my asking 
him, whether he would have refused the name oi Japhet 


OP A FATHER. 


137 

for ten thousand pounds per annum. Lord Windermear, 
after having introduced me, did not consider it at all neces- 
sary to acquaint the major with my real history, as it was 
imparted to him in confidence. He allowed matters to 
take their course, and me to work my own way in the 
world. Thus do the most cunning overreach themselves, 
and with their eyes open to any deceit on the part of 
others, prove quite blind when they deceive themselves. 

Timothy coultf not obtain any intelligence from the 
people of the inn at the last stage, except that the chariot 
had proceeded to London. We arrived late at night, and, 
much exhausted, I was glad to go to bed. 

And as I lay in bed, thinking that I was now nearly 
twenty years old, and had not yet made any discovery, 
my heart sank within me. My monomania returned with 
redoubled force, and I resolved to renew my search with 
vigour. So I told Timothy the next morning, when he 
came into myTOom, but from him I received little conso- 
lation ; he advised me to look out for a good match in a 
rich wife, and leave time to develope the mystery of my 
birth ; pointing out the little chance I ever had of success. 
Town was not full, the season had hardly commenced, and 
we had few invitations or visits to distract my thoughts 
from their object. My leg became so painful, that for a 
week I was on the sofa, Timothy every day going out to 
ascertain if he could find the person whom we had seen 
resembling me, and every evening returning without suc- 
cess. I became melancholy and nervous. Carbonnell 
could not imagine what was the matter with me. At last 
I w'as able to walk, and 1 sallied forth, perambulating, or 
rather running through street after street, looking into 
every carriage, so as to occasion surprise to the occupants, 
who believed me mad ; my dress and person w^ere disor- 
dered, for I had become indifferent to it, and Timothy 
himself believed that I was going out of my senses. At 
last, after we had been in town about five weeks, I saw 
the very object of my search, seated in a carriage, of a 
dark brown colour, arms painted in shades, so as not to be 
distinguishable but at a near approach ; his hat was off, and 
he sat upright and formally. “ That is he !” ejaculated I, 
and away I ran after the carriage. “ It is the nose,” 
cried I, as I ran down the street, knocking every one to 
the right and left. I lost my hat, but fearful of losing 

M 2 


138 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

feight of the carriage, I hastened on, when I heard a cry of 
“Stop him, stop him!” — “Stop him,” cried I, also, 
referrihg to the gentleman in black in the carriage. 

“ That won’t do,” cried a man, seizing me by the collar ; 
“ I know a trick worth two, of that.” 

“Let me go,” roared I, struggling ; but he only held 
me the faster. I tussled with the man until my coat and 
shirt were torn, but in vain ; the crowd now assembled, 
and I was fast. The fact was, that a pickpocket had been 
exercising his vocation at the time that I was running past, 
and from my haste, and loss of my hat, I was supposed to 
be the criminal. The police took charge of me — I pleaded 
innocence in vain, and I was dragged before the magis- 
trate, at Marlborough street. My appearance, the disorder 
of my dress, my coat and shirt in riband, with no hat, 
w'ere certainly not at all in my favour, when I made my 
appearance, led in by two Bow street officers. 7 

“ Who have we here?” inquired the magistrate. 

“A pickpocket, sir,” replied they. 

“ Ah 1 one of the swell mob,” replied he. “ Are there 
any witnesses?” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied a young man, coming forward. “ I 
was walking up Bond street, when I felt a tug at my 
pocket, and when I turned round, this chap was running 
away.” 

“ Can you swear to his person ?” 

There were plenty to swear that I was the person who 
ran away. 

“ Now, sir, have you any thing to offer in your defence ?” 
said the magistrate. 

“ Yes, sir,” replied I ; “ I certainly was running down 
the street; qnd it may be, for all I know or care, that 
this person’s pocket may have been picked — but I did not 
pick it. I am a gentleman.” ' 

“ All your fraternity lay claim to gentility,” replied the 
magistrate; “perhaps you will state why you were run- 
ning down the street.” 

“ I was running after a carriage, sir, that I might speak 
to the person inside of it.” 

“ Pray who was the person inside ?” 

“ I do not know, sir.” 

“ Why should you run after a person you do not 
know ?” 


OF A FATHER. 


139 


“It was because of his nose.'*' 

“ His nose replied the magistrate angrily. “ Do you 
think to trifle with me, sir? You shall now follow your 
own nose to prison. Make out his committal.” 

“ As you please, sir,” replied I ; “ but still I have told 
you the truth ; if you will allow any one to take a note, I 
will soon prove my respectability. I ask it in common 
justice.” 

“ Be it so,” replied the magistrate ; “let him sit down 
within the bar till the answer comes.” 

In less than an hour, my note to Major Carbonnell was 
answered by his appearance in person, followed by Timo- 
thy. Carbonnell walked up to the magistrate, while 
Timothy asked the oflicers, iir an angry tone, what they 
had been doing to his master, This rather surprised them, 
but both they and the magistrate were much surprised 
when the major asserted that I was his most particular 
friend, Mr. Newland, who possessed ^010,000 per annum, 
and who was as well known in fashionable society, as any 
young man of fortune about town. The magistrate ex- 
plained what had passed, and asked the major if I was not 
a little deranged j but the major, who perceived what was 
the cause of my strange behaviour, told him that some- 
body had insulted me, and that I was very anxious to lay 
hold of the person, who had avoided me, and who must 
have been in that carriage. 

“I am afraid, that after your explanation. Major Car- 
bonnell, I must, as a magistrate, bind over your friend, 
Mr. Newland, to keep the peace.” 

To this I consented, the major and Timothy being taken 
as recognisances, and then I was permitted to depart. The 
major sent for a hackney coach, and when we were going 
home he pointed out to me the folly of my conduct, and 
received my promise to be more careful for the future. 
Thus did this affair end, and for a short time I was more 
careful in my appearance, and not so very anxious to look 
into carriages ; still, however, the idea haunted me, and I 
was often very melancholy. It was about a month after- 
wards, that I was sauntering with the major, who now 
considered me to be insane upon that point, and who 
would seldom allow me to go out without him, when I 
again perceived the same carriage, with the gentleman in- 
side as before. 


140 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

“ There he is, major,” cried 1. 

“ There is 'who ?” replied he. * 

“ The man so like my father.” 

“ What, in that carriage ? that is the Bishop of E , 

my good fellow. What a strange idea you have in your 
head, Newland ; it. almost amounts to madness. Do not 
be staring in that way — come along.” 

Still my head was turned quite round, looking at the 
carriage after it had passed, till it was out of sight ; buf I 
knew who the party was, and for the time I was satisfied, 
as I was determined to find out liis address, and call upon 
him. I narrated to Timothy what had occurred, and 
referring to the Red Book, I looked out the bishop’s town 
address, and the next day after breakfast, having arranged 
my toilet with the utmost precision, I made an excuse to 
the major, and set off to Portland Place. My hand 
trembled as I knocked at the door. It was opened. I sent 
in my card, requesting the honour of an audience with his 
lordship. After waiting a few minutes in an ante-room, I 
was ushered in. “ My lord,” said I, in a flurried manner, 
“ will you allow me to have a few minutes’ conversation 
with you alone ?” 

“ This gentleman is my secretary, sir, but if you wish 
it, certainly, for although he is my confidant, I have no 
right to insist that he shall be yours. Mr. Temple, will 
you oblige me, by going up stairs for a little while.” 

The secretary quitted the room, the bishop pointed to a 
chair, and I sat down. I looked him earnestly in the 
face — the nose was exact, and I imagined that even in the 
other features I could distinguish a resemblance. I was 
satisfied that I had at last gained the object of my search. 
“ I believe, sir,” observed I, “ that you will acknowledge, 
that in the heat and impetuosity of youth we often rush 
into hasty and improvident connexions.” 

I paused, with my eyes fixed upon his. “ Very true, 
my young sir ; and when we do we are ashamed, and 
repent of them afterwards,” replied the bishop, rather 
astonished. 

“ I grant that, sir,” replied I ; “ but at the same time, 
we must feel that we must abide by the results, however 
unpleasant.” 

“ When we do wrong, Mr. Newland,” replied the 
bishop, first looking at my card, and then upon me, “ we 


OP A FATHER. 


141 


find that we are not only to be punished in the next world, 
but suffer for it also in this. I trust you have no reason 
for such suffering?” 

“Unfortunately, the sins'of the fathers are visited upon 
the children, and, in that view, I may say that I have 
suffered.” 

“ My dear sir,” replied the bishop, “ I trust you will 
excuse me, when I say, that my time is rather valuable ; 
if you have any thing of importance to communicate — 
any thing upon which you would ask my advice — for 
assistance you do not appear to require, do me the favour 
to proceed at once to the point.” 

“ I will, sir, be as concise as the matter will admit of. 
Allow me, then, to ask you a few questions, and I trust to 
your honour, and the dignity of your profession, for a can- 
did answer. Did you not marry a young woman early in 
life ? and were you not very much pressed in your circum- 
stances ?” 

The bishop stared. “ Really, Mr. 'Newland, it is a 
strange question, and I cannot imagine to what it may 
* lead, but still I will answer it. I did marry early in life, 
and I was at that time not in very affluent circum- 
stances.” 

“You had a child by that marriage — your eldest born — 
a boy ?” 

“ That is also true, Mr. Newland,” replied the bishop, 
gravely. 

“ How long is it since you have seen him ?” 

“ It is many years,” replied the bishop, putting his 
handkerchief up to his eyes. 

“ Answer me, now, sir ; — did you not desert him ?” 

“ No, no !” replied the bishop. “ It is strange that 
you should appear to know so much about the matter, Mr. 
Newland, as you could have hardly been born. I was 
poor then — very poor ; but although I could ill afford it, 
he had ^650 from me.” 

“ But, sir,” replied I, much agitated ; “ why have you • 
not reclaimed him.” 

“ I would have reclaimed him, Mr. Newland — but what 
could I do — he was not to be reclaimed ; and now — he is 
lost for ever.” 

“ Surely, sir, in ^our present affluence, you must wish 
to see him again ?” 


142 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

“ He (lied, and I trust he has gone to heaven,” replied 
the bishop, covering up his face. 

“ No, sir,” replied I, throwing myself on my knees be- 
fore him, “ he did not die, here he is at your feet, to ask 
your blessing.” 

The bishop sprang from his chair. “ What does this 
mean, sir?” said he, with astonishment. “You my 
son !” 

“Yes, reverend father — your son; who, with ^£50 you 
left ” 

“ On the top of the Portsmouth coach !” 

“ No, sir, in the basket.^' 

“ My son ! sir, — impossible ; he died in the hospital.” 

“ No, sir, he has come out of the hospital,” replied I ; 
“ and as you perceive, safe and well.” 

“ Either, sir, this must be some strange mistake, or you 
must be trifling witlfme,” replied his lordship ; “for, sir, 
I was at his death-bed, and followed him to his grave.” 

“ Are you sure of that, sir ?” replied I, starting up with 
amazement. 

“ I wish that T was not, sir — for I am liow childless ; 
but pray, sir, who, and what are you, who know so much 
of my former life, and would have thus imposed upon 
me?” ^ 

“Imposed upon you, sir!” replied I, perceiving that I 
was in error. “ Alas ! I would do no such thing. Who 
am I ? I am a young man who is in search of his father. 
Your face, and especially your nose, so resembled mine, 
tiiat I made sure that I had succeeded. Pity me, sir — pity 
me,” continued I, covering up my /ace with my hands. 

The bishop, perceiving that there was little of the im- 
postor in my appearance, and that I was much affected, 
* allowed a short time for me to recover myself, and then 
ent^ed into an explanation. When a curate he had had 
an only son, very wild, who would go to sea in spite of 
his remonstrances. He saw him depart by the Ports- 
mouth coach, and gave him the sum mentioned. His son 
received a mortal wound in action, and was sent to the 
Plymouth hospital, where he died. I then entered into 
my explanation in a few concise sentences, and with a 
heart beating with disappointment, took my leave. The 
bishop shook hands with me as I quitted the room, and 
Avished me better success at my next application. 


OP A FATHER. 


143 

I went home almost in despair. Timothy consoled me 
as well as he could, and advised me to go as much as pos- 
sible into society, as the mojst likely chance of obtaining" 
my wish, not that he considered there was any cliance, 
but he thought that amusement would restore me to my 
usual spirits. “I will go and visit little Fleta,” replied I, 
“ for a few days ; the sight of her v/ill do me more good 
than any thing else.” And the next day I set off to the 

town of , where I found the dear little girl, much grown, 

and much improved. I remained with her for a week, 
walking with her in the country, amusing her, and amused 
myself with our conversation. At the close of the week 
I bade her farewell, and returned to the major’s lodgings. 

I was astonished to find him in deep mourning. “My 
dear Carbonnell,” said I, inquiringly, “ I hope no severe 
loss ?” 

“ Nay, my dear Newland, I should be a hypocrite if I 
said so ; for there never was a more merry mourner, and 

that’s the truth of it. Mr. M , who, you know, 

stood between me and the peerage, has been drowned in 
the Rhone; I now have a squeak for it. His wife has 
one daughter, and is enceinte. Should the child prove a 
boy, I am done for, but if a girl, I must then come in to 
the barony, and £15,000 'per annum. However, I’ve 
hedged pretty handsomely.” 

“ How do you mean ?” 

“ Why they say that when a woman commences with 
girls, she generally goes on, and the odds are two to one 

that Mrs. M has a girl. I have taken the odds at 

the clubs at the amount of £15,000; so if it be a girl, I 
shall have to pay that out of my £15,000 per annum, as 
soon as 1 fall into it ; if it is a boy, and I’m floored, I shall 
pocket £30,000 by way of consolation for the disappoint- 
ment. They are all good men.” 

“Yes, but they know you never pay.” 

“ They know I never do now, because I have no money ; 
but they know I will pay if I come into the estate ; and so 
I will, most honourably,' besides a few more thousands 
that I have in my book.” 

“ I congratulate you, with all my heart, major. How 
old is the present Lord B ?” 

“ I have just been examining the peerage — he is sixty- 
two ; but he is very fresh and hearty, and may live a long 


144 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

while yet. By-the-by, Newland, I committed a great 
error last night at the club. I played pretty high, and lost 
a great deal of money.” 

“ That is unfortunate.” 

“ That was not the error ; I actually paid all my losings, 
Newland, and it has reduced the stock amazingly. 1 lost 
£750. I know I ought not to have paid away your 
money, but the fact was, as 1 was hedging, it would not do 
not to have paid, as I could not have made up my book as 
I wished. It is, however, only waiting a few weeks, till 

Mrs. M decides my fate, and then, either one way 

or the other, I shall have money enough. If your people 
won’t give you any more till you are of age, why we must 
send to a little friend of mine, that’s all, and you shall 
borrow for both of us.” 

“ Borrow !” replied I, not much liking the idea ; “ they 
will never lend me money.” 

“Won’t they,” replied the major; “no fear of that. 
Your signature, and my introducLion, will be quite suffi- 
cient.” 

“ We had better try to do without it, major; I do not 
much like it.” 

“ Well, if we can we will ; but I have not fifty pounds 
left in my desk ; how much have you ?” 

“ About twenty,” replied I, in despair at this intelli- 
gence ; “but I think there is a small sum left at the 
banker’s ; I will go and see.” I took up my hat and set 
off, to ascertain what funds we might have in store. 

I must say that I was much annoyed at this intelligence. 
The money-lenders would not be satisfied unless they 
knew where my estates were,, and had examined the will 
at Doctors’ Commons ; then all would be exposed to the 
major, and I should be considered by him as an impostor. 
I walked down Pall Mall in a very unlfJfppy mood, so 
deep in thought, that I ran against a lady, who was step- 
ping out of her carriage at a fashionable shop. She 
turned round, and I was making my best apologies to a 
very handsome woman, when her ear-rings caught my 
attention. They were of alternate coral and gold, and the 
fac simile in make to the chain given by Nattee to Fleta. 
During my last visit, I had often had the chain in my 
hand, and particularly marked the workmanship. 'i’o 
make more sure, I followed her into the shop, and stood 


OF A FATHER. 


145 

behind her, carefully examining them, as she looked over 
a quantity of laces. There could be no doubt. I waited 
till the lady rose to go away, and then addressed the shop- 
man, asking the lady’s name. He did not know — she 

was a stranger; but perhaps Mr. H , the master, 

did, and he went back to ask the question, Mr. H 

being at that moment busy, the man stayed so long, that 
I heard the carriage drive off. Fearful of losing sight of 
the lady, I took to my heels, and ran out of the shop. 
My sudden flight from the counter, covered with lace, 
made them imagine that I had stolen some, and they cried 
out “ Stop thief,” as loud as they could, springing over 
the counter, and pursuing me as I pursued the carriage, 
which was driving at a rapid pace. 

A man perceiving me running, and others, without their 
hats, following, with the cries of “Stop thief,” put out his 
leg, and I fell on the pavement, the blood rushing in 
torrents from my nose. I was seized, roughly handled, 
and again handed over to the police, who carried me before 
the same magistrate in Marlborough street. 

“ What is this?” demanded the magistrate. 

“ A shoplifter, your worship.” 

“ I am not, sir,” replied I ; “ you know me well 
enough ; I am Mr. Newland.” 

“ Mr. Newland !” replied the magistrate, suspiciously ; 
“ this is strange, a second time to appear before me upon 
such a charge.” 

“ And just as innocent as before, sir.” ^ 

“You’ll excuse me, sir, but I must have my suspi-’ 
cions this time. Where is the evidence ?” 

The people of the shop then came forward, and stated 
what had occurred. “Let him be searched,” said the 
magistrate. 

I was searched, but nothing was found upon me. “ Are 
you satisfied now, sir ?” inquired I. 

“By no means. Let the people go back and look over 
their laces, and see if any are missing ; in the mean time 
I shall detain you, for it is very easy to get rid of a small 
article, such as lace, when you are caught.” 

The man went away, and I wrote a note to Majox Car- 
bonnell, requesting his attendance. He arrived at the same 
time as the shopman, and I told him what had happened. 
The shopman declared that the stock was not correct; 

VoL. 1. N 


146 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

as far as they could judge, there were two pieces of lace 
missing. 

“ If so, I did not take them,” replied I. 

“ Upon my honour, Mr. B said the major, to the 

magistrate, “ it is very hard for a gentleman to be treated 
in this manner. This is the second time that I have been 
sent for to vouch for his respectability.” 

“ Very true, sir,” replied the magistrate; “but allow 
me to ask Mr. Newland, as he calls himself, what induced 
him to follow a lady into the shop ?” 

“ Her ear-rings,” replied I. 

“ Her ear-rings ! why, sir, the last time you were 
brought before me, you said it was after a gentleman’s 
nose — now it appears you were attracted by a lady’s ears ; 
and pray, sir,, what induced you to run out of the shop?” 

“ Because I wanted particularly to inquire about her 
ear-rings, sir.” 

“ I cannot understand these paltry excuses ; there are, it 
appears, two pieces of lace missing. I must remand you 
for further examination, sir; and you also, sir,” said the 
magistrate to Major Carbonnell ; “ for if he is a swindler, 
you must be an accomplice.” 

“Sir,” replied Major Carbonnell, sneeringly, “ you are 
certainly a very good judge of a gentleman, when you 
happen by accident to be in his company. With your 
leave, I will send a note to another confederate.” 

The major then wrote a note to Lord Windermear, 
which he despatched by Timothy, who, hearing I was in 
trouble, had accompanied the major. And while he was 
away, the, major and I sat down, he giving himself all 
manner of airs, much to the annoyance of the magistrate, 
who at last threatened to commit him immediately. 

“ You’ll repent this,” replied the major, who perceived 
Lord Windermear coming in. 

“ You shall repent it, sir, by God,” cried the magis- 
trate, in a great passion. 

“ Put five shillings in the box for swearing, Mr. B— . 
You fine other people,” said the major. “ Here is my 
other confederate. Lord W’’indermear.” 

“ Carbonnell,” said Lord Windermear, “ what is all 
this ?” 

“ Nothing, my lord, except that our friend Newland is 
taken up for shoplifting, because he thought proper to run 


OF A FATHER. 


147 

after a pretty woman’s carriage ; and I am accused by his 
worship of being his confederate. I could forgive his 
suspicions of Mr. Newland in that plight ; but as for his 
taking me for one of the swell mob, it proves a great 
deficiency of judgment ; perhaps he will commit your lord- 
ship also, as he may not be aware that your lordship’s 
person is above caption.” 

“ I can assure you, sir,” ,said Lord Windermear, proud- 
ly, “that this is nly relative. Major Carbonnell, and the 
other is my friend, Mr. Newland. I will bail them for 
any sum you please.” 

The magistrate felt astonished and annoyed, for, after 
all, he had only done his duty. Before he could reply, 
a man came from the shop to say that the laces had been 
found all right. Lord Windermear then took me aside, 
and I narrated what had happened. He recollected the 
story of Fleta in my narrative of my life, and felt that I was 
right in trying to find out who the lady was. The magis- 
trate now apologized for the detention, but explained to his 
lordship how I had before made my appearance upon an- 
other charge, and with a low bow we were dismissed. 

“ My dear Mr. Newland,” said his lordship, “ I trust 
that this will be a warning to you, not to run after pther 
people’s noses and ear-rings ; at the same time, I will cer- 
tainly keep a look-out for those very ear-rings myself. 
Major, I wish you a good morning.” 

His lordship then shook us both by the hand, and say- 
ing that he should be glad to see more of me than he latterly 
had done, stepped into his carriage and drove off. 

“ What the devil did his lordship mean about ear-rings, 
Newland?” inquired the major. 

“ I told him that I was examining the lady’s ear-rings, 
as very remarkable,” replied I. 

“You appear to be able to deceive every body but me, 
my good fellow. I know that you were examining the 
lady herself.” I left the major in his error by making no 
reply. 

When I came down to breakfast the next morning, the 
major said, “ My dear Newland, I have taken the liberty 
of requesting a very old friend of mine to come and meet 
you this morning. I will not disguise from you that it is 
Emmanuel, the money-lender. Money you must have 
until my affairs are decided one way or the other ; and, in 


148 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

this instance, I will most faithfully repay the sum bor- 
rowed, as soon as I receive the amount of my bets, or am 
certain of succeeding to the title, which is one and the 
same thing.” 

I bit my lips, for I was not a little annoyed ; but what 
could be done ? I must have either confessed my real situ- 
ation to the major, or have appeared to rai§e scruples, 
which, as the supposed heir to a large fortune, would have 
appeared to him to be very frivolous. I thought it better 
to let the affair take its chance. “ Well,” replied I, “if 
it must be, it must be ; but it shall be on my own terms.” 

“ Nay,” observed the major, “ there is no fear but that 
he will consent, and without any trouble.” 

After a moment’s reflection I Avent up stairs, and rang 
for Timothy. “Tim,” said I, “hear me; I now make 
you a solemn promise, on my honour as a gentleman, that 
I will never vborrow money upon interest, and until you 
release me from it, I shall adhere to my Avord.” 

“Very well, sir,” replied Timothy; “I guess yoilr 
reason for so doing, and I expect you Avill keep your word. 
Is that all?” 

“ Yes ; now you may take up the urn.” 

We had finished our breakfast, Avhen Timothy an- 
nounced Mr. Emmanuel, who followed him into the room. 
“ Well, old cent per cent, how are you ?” said the major. 
“ Allow me to introduce my most particular friend, Mr. 
Newland.” 

“ Auh ! Master Major,” replied the descendant of Abra- 
ham, a little puny creature, bent double Avith infirmity, 
and carrying one hand behind his back, as if to counter- 
balance the projection of his head and shoulders. “You 
vash please to call me shent per shent. I wish I vash 
able to make de moneys pay that. Mr. Newland, can I be 
of any little shervice to you ?” 

“Sit down, sit down, Emmanuel. You have my 
Avarrant for Mr. Newland’s respectability, and the sooner 
we get over the business the better.” 

“ Auh, Mr. Major, it ish true, you Avas recommend 
many good — no, not always good, customers to me, and I 
was very much obliged. Vat can I do for your handsome 
young friend ? De young gentlemen always vant money ; 
and it is de youth Avhich is de time for de pleasure and 
enjoyment.” 


149 


OF A FATHER. 

He wants a thousand pounds, Emmanuel.” 

“ Dat is a large sum — one tousand pounds ! he does not 
vant any more ?” 

“ No,” replied I, “ that will be sufficient.” 

“ Vel, den, I have de monish in my pocket. I will just 
beg de young gentleman to sign a little memorandum, dat 
I may one day receive my monish.” 

“ Blit what is that to be ?” interrupted I. 

“ It will be to promise to pay me my monish, and only 
fifteen per shent, when you come into your own.” 

“ That will not do,” replied I; “I have pledged my 
solemn word of honour, that I will not borrow money on 
interest.” 

“ And you have given de pledge, but you did not swear 
upon de book ?” 

“ No, but my word has been given, and that is enough; 
if I would forfeit my word with those to whom I have 
given it, I would also forfeit my word with you. My 
keeping my promise ought to be a pledge to you that I 
will keep my promise to you.” 

“ Dat is veil said — very veil said ; but den we must 
manage some oder way. Suppose — let me shee — how 
old are you, my young sir?” 

“ Past twenty.” 

“Auh, dat is a very pleasant age, dat twenty. Veil, 
den, you shall shign a leetle bit of paper, that you pay me 
a£2000 ve'n you come into your properties, on condition 
dat I pay now one tousand. Dat is very fair — ish it not, 
Mr. Major ?” 

Rather too hard, Emmanuel.” 

“ But de rishque — de rishque, Mr. Major.” 

“ I will not agree to those terms,” replied I ; “ you must 
take your money away, Mr. Emmanuel.” 

“ V ell, den — vat vill you pay me ?” 

“I will sign an agreement to pay you ^61500 for the 
thousand, if you please ; if that will not suit you, I will 
try elsewhere.” 

“ Dat is very bad bargain. How old you shay ?” 

“ Twenty.” 

“ Veil, X shuppose I must oblige you, and my very goot 
friend, de major.” 

Mr. Emmanuel drew out his spectacles, pen, and ink- 
n2 


150 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

horn, filled up a bond, and handed it to me to sign. I read 
it carefully over, and signed it ; he then paid down the 
money, and took his leave. 

It may appear strange to the reader that the money was 
obtained so easily, but he must remember that the major 
was considered a person who universally attached himself 
to young men of large fortune ; he had already been the 
means of throwing many profitable speculations into the 
l^ands of Emmanuel, and the latter put implicit confidence 
in him. The money-lenders also are always on the look- 
out for young men with large fortunes, and ‘have their 
names registered. Emmanuel had long expected me to 
come to him, and although it was his intention to have 
examined more particularly, and not to have had the 
money prepared, yet my refusal to sign the bond, bearing 
interest, and my disputing the terras of the second propo- 
sal, blinded him completely, and put him off his usual 
guard. 

“ Upon my word, Newland, you obtained better terms 
than I could have expected from the old Hunks.” 

“ Much better than I expected also, major,” replied I ; 
“but now, how much of the monev^ would you like to 
have ?” ^ 

“ My dear fellow, this is very handsome of you ; but, 

I thank Heaven, I shall be soon able to repay it; but 
what pleases me, Newland, is your perfect confidence in 
one, whom the rest of the world would not trust with a 
shilling. I will accept your offer as freely as it is made, 
and take ^500, just to make a show for the few weeks 
that I am in suspense, and then you will find, that with all * 
my faults, I am not deficieht in gratitude.” I divided the 
money with the major, and he shortly afterwards went 
out. 

“ Well, sir,” said Timothy, entering, full of curiosity, 

V what have you done ?” 

“I have borrowed a thousand to pay fifteen hundred 
when I come into my property.” 

“ You are safe then. Excellent, and the Jew will be 
bit.” 

“ No, Timothy, I intend to repay it as soon as I can,” 

“I should like to know when that will be.” 

“So should I, Tim, for it must depend upon my finding 


OP A PATHS R. 151 

out my parentage.” Heigho, thought I, when shall I ever 
find out who is my father ? 

I dressed and went out, met Harcourt, dined with him, 
and on my return the major had not come home. It was 
then past midnight, and feeling little inclination to sleep, I 
remained in the drawing-room waiting for his arrival. 
About three o’clock he came in, flushed in the face, and 
apparently in high good humour. 

“Newland,” said he, throwing his pocket-book on the 
table, “just open that, and then you will open your 
eyes.” 

I obeyed him, and to my surprise took out a bundle of 
bank-notes ; I counted up their value, and they amounted 
to d035OO. 

“ You have been fortunate, indeed.” 

“Yes,” replied the major; “knowing that in a short 
time I shall be certain of cash, one way or the other, I had 
resolved to try my luck with the ^500. I went to the 
hazard table, and threw in seventeen times — hedged upon 
the deuce ace, and threw out with it — voila. They won’t 
catch me there again in a hurry — luck like that only comes 
once in a man’s life ; but, Japhet, there is a little draw- 
back to all this. I shall require your kind attendance in 
tw’O or three hours.” 

“ Why, what’s the matter?” 

“ Merely an affair of honour. I was insulted by a vaga- 
bond, and we meet at six o’clock.” 

“ A vagabond — but surely, Carbonnell, you will not 
condescend — ” 

“ My dear fellow, although as great a vagabond as there 
is on the face of the earth, yet he is a peer of the realm, 
and his title warrants the meeting — but, after all, what 
is it ?” 

“ I trust it will be nothing, Carbonnell, but still it may 
prove otherwise.” 

“Granted; and what then, my dear Newland? we all 
owe Heaven a death ; and if I am floored, why then I shall 
no longer be anxious about title or fortune.” * 

“ It’s a bad way of settling a dispute,” replied I, 
gravely. 

“There is no other, Newland. How would society be 
held in check if it were not for duelling? We should all 


152 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

be a set of bears living in a bear-garden. I presume you 
have never been out ?” 

“ Never,” replied I, “ and had hoped that I never should 
have.” 

“ Then you must have better fortune, or better temper 
than most others, if you pass through life without an 
affair of this kind on your hands. I mean as principal, not 
as second. But, my dear fellow, I must give you a little 
advice, relative to your behaviour as a second ; for I’m very 
particular on these occasions,' and like that things should 
be done very correctly. It will never do, my dear New- 
land, that you appear on the ground with that melancholy 
face. I do not mean that you should laugh, or even smile ; 
that were equally out of character ; but you should show 
yourself perfectly calm and indifferent. In your behaviour 
towards the other second, you must be most scrupulously 
polite ; but at the same time never give up a point of 
dispute, in which my interest may be concerned. Even 
in your walk be slow, and move, as much as the ground 
will allow you, as if you were in a drawing-room. Never 
remain silent ; offer even trivial remarks, rather than ap- 
pear distrait. There is one point of great importance — I 
refer to choosing the ground, in which, perhaps, you will 
require my unperceived assistance. Any decided line 
behind me would be very advantageous to my adversary, 
such as the trunk of a tree, post, <fcc., even an elevated 
light or dark ground behind me is unadvisable. Choose, 
if you can, a broken light, as it affects the correctness of 
the aim ; but as you will not probably be able to manage 
this satisfactorily, I will assist you. When on the ground, 
after having divided the sum fairly between us, I shall 
walk about unconcernedly, and when I perceive a judi- 
cious spot, I will take a pinch of snuff and use my hand- 
kerchief, turning at the same time in the direction in which 
I wish my adversary to be placed. Take your cue from 
that, and with all suavity of manner, insist as much as you 
can upon our being so placed. That must be left to your 
own persuasive powers. I believe I have now stated all 
that is necessary, and I must prepare my instruments.” 

The major then went into his own room, and I never 
felt more nervous or more unhinged than after this conver- 
sation. I had a melancholy foreboding — ^but that I believe 


OF A FATHER. 


153 

every one has, when he, for the first time, has to assist at 
a mortal rencontre. I was in a deep musing when he re- 
turned with his pistols and all the necessary apparatus, 
and when the major pointed out to me, and made me once 
or twice practise the setting of the hair triggers, which is 
the duty of the second, an involuntary shudder came 
over me. 

“ Why, Newland, what is the matter with you? I 
thought that you had more nerve.” 

“I probably should show more, Carbonnell, were I the 
principal instead of the second, but I cannot bear the reflec- 
tion that some accident should happen to you. You are 
the only one with whom I have been on terms of friend- 
ship, and the idea of losing you, is very, very painful.” 

“ Newland, you really quite unman me, and you may 
now see a miracle,” continued Carbonnell, as he passed 
his hand to his eye, “the moisture of a tear on the cheek 
of a London roue, a man of the world, who has long lived 
for himself and for this world only. It never would be 
credited if asserted. Newland, there was a time when I 
was like yourself — the world took advantage of my inge- 
nuousness and inexperience ; my good feelings were the 
cause of my ruin ; and then by degrees I became as callous 
and as hardened as the world itself. My dear fellow, I 
thought all affection, all sentiment, dried up within me, but 
it is not the case. You have made me feel that I have still 
a heart, and that I can love you. But this is all romance, 
and not fitted for the present time. It is now five o’clock, 
let us be on the ground early — it will give us an advan- 
tage.” 

“ I do not much like speaking to you on the subject, 
Carbonnell ; but is there nothing that you might wish done 
in case of accident ?” 

“Nothing — why, yes. I may as well. Give me a sheet of 
paper.” The major sat down, and wrote for a few minutes. 
“ Now, send Timothy and another here. Timothy, and you, 
sir, see me sign this paper, and put my seal to it. I deliver 
this as my act and deed. Put your names as witnesses.” 
They complied with his request, and then the major 
desired Timothy to call a hackney-coach. “ Newland,” 
said the major, putting the paper, folded up, in my pocket, 
along with the bank-notes, “ take care of this for me till 
we come back.” 


154 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

The coach is at the door, sir,” said Timothy, looking 
at me, as if to say, “ What can all this be about ?” 

“You may come with us, and see,” said the major, 
observing Tim’s countenance, “ and put that case into the 
coach.” Tim, who knew that it was the major’s case of 
pistols, appeared still more alarmed, and stood still without 
obeying the order. “ Never mind, Tim, your master is 
not the_one who is to use them,” said the major, patting 
him on the shoulder. 

Timothy, relieved by this intelligence, went down stairs 
with the pistols ; we followed him. Tim mounted on the 
box, and we drove to Chalk Farm. “ Shall the coach 
wait?” inquired Timothy. 

“ Yes, by all means,” replied 1, in a low voice. We 
arrived at the usual ground, where disputes of this kind 
were generally settled ; and the major took a survey of it 
with great composure. 

“ Now, observe, Japhet,” said he, “ if you can con- 
trive ; but here they are. I will give you the notice 

agreed upon.” The peer, v/hose title was Lord Tine- 
holme, now came up with his second, whom he introduced 
to rqe as Mr. Osborn. “ Mr. Newland,” replied the 
major, saluting Mr. Osborn in return. We both took off 
our hats, bowed, and then proceeded to our duty. I must 
do my adversary’s second the justice to say, that his polite- 
ness was fully equal to mine. There was no mention on 
either side of explanations and retractions — the insult was 
too gross, and the character of his lordship, as well as that 
of Major Carbonnell, was too well known. Twelve paces 
were proposed by Mr. Osborn, and agreed to by me— - 
the pistols of Major Carbonnell were gained by drawing 
lots — we had nothing more to do but to place our princi- 
pals. The major took out his snuff-box, took a pinch, 
and blew his nose, -turning towards a copse of beech trees. 

“ With your permission, I will mark out the ground, 
Mr. Osborn,” said I, walking up to the major, and intend- 
ing to pace twelve paces in the direction towards which he 
faced. 

“ Allow me to observe that I think a little more in this 
direction would be more fair for both parties,” said Mr. 
Osborn. 

“ It would so, my dear sir,” replied I ; “ but submitting 
to your superior judgment, perhaps it may not have struck 


OP A FATHER. 


155 


you that my principal will have rather too much of the 
sun. I am incapable of taking any advantage, but I should 
not do my duty if I did not see every justice done to the 
major, who has confided to me in this unpleasant affair. I 
put it to you, sir, as a gentleman and man of honour, 
whether I am claiming too much ?” A little amicable 
altercation took place on this point, but finding that I 
would not yield, and that at every reply I was more and 
more polite and bland in my deportment, Mr. Osborn gave 
up the point. I walked the twelve paces ; and Mr. Osborn 
placed his principal. I observed that Lord Tineholme did not 
appear pleased ; he expostulated with him, but it was then 
too lat6. The pistols had been already loaded — the choice 
was given to his lordship, and Major Carbonnell received 
the other from my hand, which actually trembled, while 
his was firm. I requested Mr. Osborn to drop the hand- 
kerchief, as I could not make up my mind to give a signal 
which might be fatal to the major. They fired — Lord 
Tineholme fell immediately — the major remained on his 
feet for a second or two, and then sank down on the 
ground. I hastened up to him. Where are you hurt?” 

The major put his hand to his hip — “ I am hit hard, 
Newland, but not so hard as he is. Run and see.” 

I left the major, and went up to where Lord Tineholme 
lay, his head raised on the knee of his second. 

“ It is all over with him, Mr. Newland, the ball has 
passed through his brain.” 

I hastened back to the major, to examine his wound, 
and, with the assistance of Timothy, I stripped him suffi- 
ciently to ascertain that the ball had entered his hip, and 
probing the wound with my finger, it appeared that it had 
glanced off in the direction of the intestines ; the suffusion 
of blood was very trifling, which alarmed me still more. 

“ Could you bear removal, major, in the coach ?” 

“ I cannot tell, but we must try ; the sooner I am home 
the better, Japhet,” replied he, faintly. 

With the assistance of Timothy, I put him into the 
hackney-coach, and we drove off, after I had taken off my 
hat, and made my obeisance to Mr. Osborn, an effort of • 
politeness which I certainly should have neglected, had I 
not been reminded of it by my principal. We set off, and 
the major bore his journey very well, making no com- 


1 


156 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

plaint, but on our arrival he fainted as we lifted him out. 
As soon as he was on the bed, I despatched Timothy for a 
surgeon. On his arrival he examined the wound, and 
shook his head. Taking me into the next room, he declared 
his opinion that the ball had passed into the intestines, 
which were severed, and that there was no hope. I sat 
down, and covered up my face — the tears rolled down and 
trickled through my fingers — it was the first heavy blow I 
had yet received. Without kindred or connexions, I felt 
that I was about' to lose one who was dear to me. To 
another, not in my situation, it might have only produced 
a temporary grief at the near loss of a friend; but to me, 
who was almost alone in the world, the loss was heavy in 
the extreme. Whom had I to fly to for solace — there was 
Timothy and Fleta — one who performed the duty of a 
servant to me, and a child. I felt that they were not 
sufficient, and my heart was chilled. 

The surgeon had, in the mean time, returned to the 
major, and dressed the wound. The major, who had 
recovered from his weakness, asked him his candid 
opinion. “ We must hope for the best, sir,” replied the 
surgeon. 

“That is to say, there is no hope,” replied the major ; 
“and I feel that you are right. How long do you think 
that I may live ?” 

“If the wound does not take a favourable turn, about 
forty-eight hours, sir,” replied the surgeon ; “ but we 
must hope for a more fortunate issue.” 

“ In a death-bed case you medical men are like lawyers,” 
replied, the major, “theresno getting a straight-forward 
answer from you. Where is Mr. Newland ?” 

“ Here l am, Carbonnell,” said I, taking his hand. 

“ My dear fellow, I know it is all over with me, and you 
of course know it as well as I do. Do not think that it is 

a source of much regret to me to leave this rascally world 

indeed it is not ; but I do feel sorry, very sorry, to leave 
you. The doctor tells me I shall live forty-eight hours ; 
but I have an ide^'that I shall not live so many minutes! 
1 feel my streng^ gradually failing me. Depend upon it! 
my dear Newl^d, there is an internal hemorrhage. My 
dear fellow, I ihall not be able to speak soon. I have left 
you my exemtor and sole heir. I wish there was more 


OP A FATHER. 


157 


for you — it will last you, however, till you come of age. 
That was a lucky hit last night, but a very unlucky one 
this morning. Bury me like a gentleman.” 

“ My dear Carbonnell,” said I, “ would you not like to 
see some body — a clergyman ?” 

“ Newland, excuse me. I do not refuse it out of disre- 
spect, or because I do not believe in the tenets of Chris- 
tianity ; but I cannot believe that my repentance at this 
late hour can be of any avail. If I have not been sorry for 
the life I have lived — if I have not had my moments 
of remorse — if I had not promised to amend, and intended 
to have so done, and I trust I have — what avails my re- 
pentance now ? No, no, Japhet, as I have sown so must 
I reap, and trust to the mercy of Heaven. God only 
knows all our hearts, and I would fain believe that I may 
find more favour in the eyes of the Almighty, than I have 

in this world from those who ^but we must not judge. 

Give me to drink, Japhet — I am sinking fast. God bless 
you, my dear fellow.” 

The major sank on his pillow, after he had moistened 
his lips, and spoke no more. With his hand clasped in 
mine he gradually sank, and in a quarter of an hour his 
eyes were fixed, and all was over. He was right in his 
conjectures — an artery had been divided, and he had bled 
to death. The surgeon came again just before he was 
dead, for I had sent for him. “ It is better as it is,” said 
he to me. “ Had he not bled to death, he would have 
suffered forty-eight hours of extreme agony from the mor- 
tification which must have ensued.” He closed the major’s 
eyes and took his leave, and I hastened into the drawing- 
room and sent for Timothy, with whom I sate in a long 
conversation on this unfortunate occurrence, and my future 
prospects. 

My grief for the death of the major was sincere ; much 
may indeed be ascribed to habit from our long residence 
and companionship ; but more to the knowledge that the 
major, with all his faults, had redeeming qualities, and that 
the world had driven him to become what he had been. 
I had tha further conviction, that he was attached to me, 
and, in my situation, any thing like affection was most 
precious. His funeral was handsome, without being 
ostentatious, and I paid every demand upon him which I 

VOL. I. O 


158 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

knew to be just — many, indeed, that were not sent in, 
from a supposition that any claim made would be useless. 
His debts were not much above ^200, and these debts had 
never been expected to be liquidated by those who had 
given him credit. The paper he had written, and had 
been witnessed by Timothy and another, was a short will, 
in which he left me his sole heir and executor. The 
whole of his property consisted in his house in St. James’s 
street, the contents of his pocket-book intrusted to my 
care, and his personal effects, which, especially in bijou- 
terie, were valuable. The house was worth about ^04000, 
as he had told me. In his pocket-book were notes to the 
amount of £3500, and his other effects might be valued at 
£400. With all his debts and funeral expenses liquidated, 
and with my own money, I found myself in possession of 
£8000, — a sum which never could have been credited, 
for it was generally supposed that he died worth less than 
nothing, having lived for a long while upon a capital of a -n 
similar value. 

“ I cannot but say,” said Timothy, “ but this is very 
fortunate. Had the major not persuaded you to borrow 
money, he never would have w,on so large a sum. Had 
he lived he would have squandered it away ; but just 
in the nick of time he is killed, and makes you his heir.” 

“There is truth in your observation, Timothy; but 
now you must go to Mr. Emmanuel, that I may pay him 
off. I will repay the £1000 lent me by Lord Winder- 
mear into his banker’s, and then I must execute one part 
of the poor major’s will. He left his diamond solitaire as 
a memento to his lordship. Bring it to me, and I will call 
and present it.” 

This conversation took place the day after the funeral, 
and, attired in deep mourning, I called upon his lordship, 
and was admitted. His lordship had sent his carriage to 
attend the funeral, and Avas also in mourning when he 
received me. I executed my commission, and after a long 
conversation with his lordship, in which I confided to him 
the contents of the will, and the amount of* property of the 
deceased, I rose to take my leave. 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Newland,” said he, “but what do 
you now propose to do ? I confess I feel a strong interest 
about you, and had wished that you had come to me 


OF A FATHER. 


159 


oftener without an invitation. I perceive that you never 
will. Have you no intention of following up any pur- 
suit ?” 

“Yes, my lord, I intend to search after. my father; 
and I trust that by husbanding my unexpected resources, 
I shall now be able.” 

“ You have the credit, in the fashionable world, of pos- 
sessing a large fortune.” 

“ That is not my fault, my lord : it is through Major 
Carbonnell’s mistake that the world is deceived. Still I 
must acknowledge myself so far participator, that I have' 
never contradicted the report.” 

“ Meaning, I presume, by some good match, to reap 
the advantage of the supposition.” 

“ Not so, my lord, I assure you. People may deceive 
themselves, but I will not deceive them.” 

“ Nor undeceive them, Mr. Newland ?” 

“ Undeceive them, I will not; nay, if I did make the 
attempt, I should not be believed. They never would 
believe it possible that I could have lived so long with your 
relative, without having had a large supply of money. 
They might believe that I had run through my money, 
but not that I never had any.” 

“There is a knowledge of the world in that remark,” 
replied his lordship ; “ but I interrupted you, so proceed.” 

“ I mean to observe, my lord, — and you, by your know- 
ledge of my previous history, can best judge how far I am 
warranted in saying so, — that I have as yet steered the 
middle course between that which is dishonest and 
honest. If the world deceives itself, you would say that, 
in strict honesty, I ought to undeceive it. So I would, 
my lord, if it were not for my peculiar situation ; but at 
the same time I never will, if possible, be guilty of direct 
deceit ; that is to say, I would not take advantage of my 
supposed wealth, to marry a young person of large for- 
tune. I would state myself a beggar, and gain her affec- 
tions as a beggar. A woman can have little confidence in 
a man who deceives her before marriage.” 

“ Your secret will always be safe with me, Mr. New- 
land ; you have a right to demand it. 1 am glad' to hear 
the sentiments which you have expressed; they are not 
founded, perhaps, upon the strictest code of morality ; but 
there are many who profess more who do not act up to so 


160 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

much. Still I wish you would think in what way I may 
be able to serve you, for your life at present is useless and 
unprofitable, and may tend to warp still more ideas which 
are not quite as strict as they ought to be.” 

“ My lord, I have but one object in allowing the world 
to continue in their error relative to my means, which is, 
that it procures for me an entrance into that society in 
which I have a moral conviction that I shall find my 
father. I have but one pursuit, one end to attain, which 
is to succeed in that search. I return you a thousand 
thanks for your kind expressions and goodwill; but I 
cannot, at present, avail myself of them. I beg your 
lordship’s pardon, but did you ever meet the lady with the 
ear-rings ?” » 

Lord Windermear smiled. “ Really, Mr. Newland, 
you are a very strange person ; not content with finding 
out your own parents, you must also be searching after 
other people’s ; not that I do not commend your conduct 
in this instance ; but I’m afraid, in running after shadows, 
y'ou are too indifferent to the substance.” 

“ Ah, my lord ! it is very well for you to argue who 
have had a father and mother, and never felt the want of 
them ; but if you knew how my heart yearns after my 
parents, you would not be surprised at my perseverance.” 

“ I am surprised at nothing in this world, Mr. New'- 
land; every one pursues happiness in his own way ; your 
happiness appears to be centred in one feeling, and you are 
only acting as the world does in general ; but recollect 
that the search after happiness ends in disappointment.” 

“ I grant it but too often does, my lord ; but there is 
pleasure in the chace,” replied I. 

“ Well, go, and may you prosper. All I can say is 
tliis, Mr. Newland; do not have that false pride not to 
apply to me when you need assistance. Recollect it is 
much better to be under an obligation, if such you will 
consider it, than to do that which is wrong ; and that it is 
a very false pride which would blush to accept a favour, 
and yet not blush to do what it ought to be ashamed of. 
Promise me, Mr. Newland, that upon any reverse or exi- 
gence, you will apply to me.” 

“ I candidly acknowledge to your lordship, that I would 
rather be under an obligation to any one but you ; and I 
trust you will clearly appreciate my feelings. I have 


OF A FATHER. 


161 


taken the liberty of refunding the ^1000 you were so 
kind as to place at my disposal as a loan. At the same 
time I will promise, that if at any time I should require 
your assistance, I will again request leave to become your 
debtor.” I rose again to depart. 

“Farewell, Newland; when I thought you had behaved 
ill, and offered to better you, you only demanded my good 
opinion ; you have it, and have it so firmly, that it will 
not easily be shaken.” His lordship then shook hands 
with me, and I took my leave. 

On my return 1 found Emmanuel, the money-lender, who 
had accompanied Timothy, fancying that 1 was in want of 
more assistance, and but too willing to give it. His sur- 
prise was very great when I told him that I wished to repay 
the money I had borrowed. 

“ Veil, dis is very strange ! I have lent my monish a 
tousand times, and never once they did offer if me back. 
Veil, I will take it, sar.” 

“ But how much must I give you, Mr. Emmanuel, for 
the ten days’ loan ?” 

“ How much — vy, you remember, you will give de bond 
money — de fifteen hundred.” 

“ What ! five hundred pounds interest for ten days, Mr. 
Emmanuel ; no, no, that’s rather too bad. I will, if you 
please, pay you back eleven hundred pounds, and that I 
think is very handsome.” 

“ I don’t want my monish, my good sar. I lend you 
one tousand pounds, on de condition that you pay me fif- 
teen hundred when you come into your properties, which 
will be in very short time. You send for me, and tell me 
you visli to pay back the monish directly ; I never refuse 
monish — if you wish to pay, I will take, but I will not take 
one farding less than de monish on de bond.” 

“ Very well, Mr. Emmanuel, just as you please; I offer 
you your money back, in presence of my servant, and one 
hundred pounds for the loan of it for ten days. Refuse it 
if you choose, but I earnestly recommend you to take it.” 

“I will not have the monish, sar; dis is de child’s 
play,” replied the Jew. “ I must have my fifteen hundred 
— all in goot time, sar — I am in no hurry — I vish you a 
very good morning, Mr. Newland. Venyou vish for more 
monish to borrow, I shall be happy to pay my respects.” 


162 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

So saying, the Jew walked out of the room, with his arm 
behind his back as usual. 

Timothy and I burst out into laughter. “ Really, Timo- 
thy,” observed I, “it appears that very little art is neces- 
sary to deceive the world, for in every instance they will 
deceive themselves. The Jew is ofl' my conscience, at all 
events ; and now he never will be paid, until ” 

“ Until when, Japhet?” 

“ Until I find out my father,” replied I. 

“ Every thing is put off till that time arrives, I observe,” 
said Timothy. “ Other people will soon be as interested 
in the search as yourself.” 

“ I wish they were ; unfortunately it is a secret, which 
cannot be divulged.” 

A ring at the bell called Timothy down stairs : he re- 
turned with a letter ; it was from Lord Windermear, and 
ran as follows : — < 

“ My dear Newland, — I have been thinking about you 
ever since you left me this morning, and as you appear 
resolved to prosecute your search, it has occurred to me 
that you should go about it in a more systematic way. I 
do not mean to say that what 1 now propose will prove of 
any advantage to you, but still it may, as you will have a 
very old, and very clever head to advise with. I refer to 
Mr. Masterton, my legal adviser, from whom you had the 
papers which led to our first acquaintance. He is aware 
that you were (I beg your pardon) an impostor, as he has 
since seen Mr. Estcourt. The letter enclosed is for him, 
and with that in your hand you may face him boldly, and 
I have no doubt that he will assist you all in his power, 
and put you to no expense. Narrate your whole history 
to him, and then you will hear what he may propose. He 
has many secrets, much more important than yours. Wish- 
ing you every success that your perseverance deserves, 

“ Believe me, yours very truly, 

“Lord Windermear.” 

“ I believe the advice to be good,” said I, after reading 
the letter. “lam myself at fault, and hardly know how 
to proceed. I think I will go at once to the old gentleman, 
Timothy.” 


OP A FATHER. 


163 


“ It can do no harm, if it does no good. Two heads are 
better than one,” replied Timothy. “ Some secrets are 
too well kept, and deserting a child is one of those which 
is confided but to few.” 

“ By-the-by, Timothy, here have I been, more than so 
years out of the Foundling Hospital, and have never 
yet inquired if any one has ever been to reclaim me.” 

“Very true; and I think I’ll step myself to the work- 
house, at St. Bridget’s, and ask whether any one has asked 
about me,” replied Timothy, with a grin. 

“ There is another thing that I have neglected,” observed 
I, “ which is to inquire at the address in Coleman-street, 
if there is any letter from Melchior.” 

“I have often thought of him,” replied Timothy. “I 
wonder who he can be — there is another mystery there. 
I wonder whether we shall ever fall in with him again — 
and Nattee, too ?” 

“ There’s no saying, Timothy. I wonder where that 
poor fool, Philotas, and our friend Jumbo, are now?” 

The remembrance of the two last personages made us 
both burst out a laughing. 

“ Timothy, I’ve been reflecting that my intimacy with 
poor Carbonnell has rather hindered than assisted me in 
my search. He found me with a good appearance, and he 
has moulded me into a gentleman as far as manners and 
appearance are concerned ; but the constant vortex in 
Mdiich I have been whirled in his company, has prevented 
me from doing any thing. His melancholy death has per- 
haps been fortunate for me. It has left me more indepen- 
dent in circumstances, and more free. I must really now 
set to in earnest.” 

“ I beg your pardon, Japhet, but did not you say the 
same when we first set off on our travels, and yet remain 
more than a year with the gipsies ? Did not you make 
the same resolution when we arrived in town, with our 
pockets full of money, and yet, once into fashionable soci- 
ety, think but little, and occasionally, of it? Now you 
make the same resolution, and how long will you keep 
it?” 

“Nay, Timothy, that remark is hardly fair ; you know 
that the subject is ever in my thoughts.” 

“ In your thoughts, I grant, very frequently ; but you 
have still been led away from the search.” 


164 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

1 grant it, but I presume that arises from not knowing 
how to proceed. I have a skein to unravel, and cannot 
find out an end to commence with.” 

“ I always thought people commenced with the begin- 
ning,” replied Tim, laughing. ^ 

“ At all events, I will now try back, and face the old 
lawyer. Do you call at Coleman-street, Tim, and at St. 
Bridget’s also, if you please.” 

“ As for St. Bridget’s, I’m in no particular hurry about 
my mother ; if I stumble upon her I may pick her up ; but 
I never make a diligent search after what in all probability 
may not be worth the finding.” 

Leaving Timothy to go his way, I walked to the house 
at Lincoln’s Inn, which I had before entered upon the 
memorable occasion of the papers of Estcourt. As before, 
I rang the bell, the door swung open, and I was once more 
in the presence of Mr. Masterton. 

“I have a letter, sir,” said I, bowing, and presenting 
the letter from Lord Windermear. 

The old gentleman peered at me through his spectacles. 
“ Why ! we have met before — bless me — why you’re the 
rogue that ” . 

“ You are perfectly right, sir,” interrupted 1. “ I am 

the rogue who presented the letter from Lord Windermear, 
and who presents you with another from the same person ; 
do me the favour to read it, while 1 take a chair.” 

“ Upon my soul — you impudent handsome dog — I must 
say — great pity — come for money, I suppose. Well, it’s 
a sad w'orld,” muttered the lawyer, as he broke open the' 
letter of Lord Windermear. 

I made no reply, but watched his countenance, which 
changed to that of an expression of surprise. “ Had his 
lordship sent me a request to have you hanged if possi- 
ble,” said Mr. Masterton, “ I should have felt no surprise, 
but in this letter he praises you, and desires me to render 
you all the service in my power. I can’t understand it.” 

“ No, sir; but if you have leisure to listen to me, you 
will find that, in this world, we may be deceived by 
appearances.” 

“ Well, and so I was, when I first saw you ; I never 
could have believed you to be — but never mind.” 

“ Perhaps, sir, in an hour or two you will again alter 


OP A FATHER. 165 

your opinion. Are you at leisure, or will you make an 
appointment for some future day ?” 

“ Mr. Newland, I am not at leisure — I never was more 
busy ; and if you had come on any legal business, I should 
have put you off for three or four days, at least; but my 
curiosity is so raised, that -I am determined that I will 
indulge it at the expense of my interest. I will turn the 
key, and then you will oblige me by unravelling, what at 
present is to me as curious as it is wholly incomprehen- 
sible.” 

In about three hours I had narrated the history of my 
life, up to the very day, almost as much detailed as it has 
been to the reader. “And now, Mr. Masterton,” said I, 
as I wound up my narrative, “ do you think that I deserve 
the title of rogue, which you applied to me when 1 came 
in?” 

“Upon my word, Mr. Newland, I hardly know what 
to say ; but I like to tell the truth. To say that you have 
been quite honest, would not be correct — a rogue to a 
certain degree you have been, but you have been the 
rogue of circumstances. I can only say this, that there 
are greater rogues than you, whose characters are unble- 
mished in the world — that most people in your peculiar 
situation would have been much greater rogues ; and 
lastly, that rogue or no't rogue, I have great pleasure in 
taking you by the hand, and will do all I possibly can to 
serve you — and that for your own sake. Your search 
after your parents I consider almost tantamount to a wild- 
goose chase ; but still, as your happiness depends upon it, 
1 suppose it must be carried on ; but you must allow me 
time for reflection. I will consider what may be the most 
judicious method of proceeding. Can you dine tete-a- 
tete with me here on Friday, and we then will talk over 
the matter ?” 

“ On Friday, sir ; I am afraid that I am engaged to Lady 
Maelstrom ; but that is of no consequence— .‘■I will write an 
excuse to her ladyship.” 

“Lady Maelstrom! how very odd that you should 
bring up her name after our conversation.” 

“ Why so, my dear sir?” 

“ Why !” replied Mr. Masterton, chuckling; “because 
— recollect, it is a secret, Mr. Newland — I remember 
some twenty years ago, when she was a girl of eighteen, 


166 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

before she married, slie had a little faux pas, and I was 
called in about a settlement, for the maintenance of the 
child.” 

“ Is it possible, sir?” replied I, anxiously. 

“ Yes, she was violently attached to a young officer, 
without money, but of good family ; some say it was a 
private marriage, others, that he was — a rascal. It was 
all hushed up ; but he was obliged by the friends, before 
he left for the West Indies, to sign a deed of maintenance, 
and I was the party called in. I never heard any more 
about it. The officer’s name was Warrender ; he died of 
the yellow fever, I believe, and after his death she married 
Lord Maelstrom.” 

“ He is dead, then?” replied I, mournfully. 

“ Well, that cannot affect you, my good fellow. On 
Friday, then, at six o’clock precisely. Good afternoon, 
Mr. Newland.” 

I shook hands with the old gentleman, and returned 
home, but my brain whirled with the fear of a confirma- 
tion of that which Mr. Masterton had so carelessly con- 
veyed. Any thing like a possibility, immediately was 
swelled to a certainty in my imagination, so ardent and 
heated on the one subject; and as soon as I regained my 
room, I threw myself on the sofa, and fell into a deep re- 
verie. I tried to approximate the features of Lady Mael- 
strom to mine, but all the ingenuity in the world could 
not effect that ; but still, I might be like my father — but 
my father was dead, and that threw a chill over the whole 
glowing picture which I had, as usual, conjured up ; be- 
sides, it was asserted that I was born in wedlock, and 
there was a doubt relative to the marriage of her lady- 
ship. 

After a long cogitation I jumped up, seized my hat, and 
set off for Grosvenor-square, determining to ask a' private 
interview with her ladyship, and at once end my harass- 
ing doubts and surmises. I think there could not be a 
greater proof of my madness than my venturing to attack 
a lady of forty upon the irregularities of her youth, and to 
question her upon a subject which had been confided but 
to two or three, and she imagined had long been forgotten : 
but this never struck me-; all considerations were levelled 
in my ardent pursuit. I walked through the streets at a 
rapid pace, the crowd passed by me as shadows ; I neither 


OP A FATHER. 


167 

saw nor distinguish them ; I was deep in reverie as to the 
best way of breaking the subject to her ladyship, for, not- 
withstanding my monomania, I perceived it to be a point 
of great delicacy. After having overturned about twenty 
people in my mad career, I arrived at the door and 
knocked. My heart beat almost as hard against my ribs 
with excitement. 

“ Is her ladyship at home ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

I was ushered into the drawing-room, and found her sit- 
ting with two of her nieces, the Misses Fairfax. 

“ Mr. Newland, you have been quite a stranger,” said 
her ladyship, as I walked up to her and made my obei- 
sance. “ I did intend to scold you well ; but I suppose 
that sad affair of poor Major Carbonnell’s has been a heavy 
blow to you — you were so intimate — lived together, I 
believe, did you not? However, you have not so much 
cause to regret, for he was not a very proper companion 
for young men like you ; to tell you the truth, I consider 
it as a fortunate circumstance that he was removed, for he 
would by degrees have led you into all manner of mischief, 
and have persuaded you to squander your fortune. 1 did 
at one time think of giving you a hint, but it was a delicate 
point — now that he is gone, I tell you very candidly that 
you have had an escape. A young man like you, Mr. 
Newland, who could command an alliance into the high- 
est, yes, the very highest families — and let me tell you, 
Mr. Newland, that there is nothing like connexion — 
money is of no consequence to you, but connexion, Mr. 
Newland, is what you should look for — connexion with 
some high family, and then you will do well. I should 
like to see you settled — well settled, I mean^ Mr. New- 
land. Now that you are rid of the major, who has ruined 
many young men in his time, I trust you will seriously 
think of settling down into a married man. Cecilia, my 
dear, show your tambour work to Mr. Newland, and ask 
him his opinion. Is it not beautiful, Mr. Newland ?” 

“ Extremely beautiful, indeed, ma’am,” replied I, glad 
at last that her ladyship allowed me to speak a word. 

“ Emma, my dear, you look pale ; you must go out into 
the air. Go, children, put your bonnets on, and take a turn 
in the garden ; when the carriaire comes round, I will send 
for you ” The young ladies quitted the room. “ Nice 


168 JAPIIET, IX SEARCH 

innocent girls, Mr. Newland ; but you are not partial to 
blondes, I believe ?” 

“ Indeed, Lady Maelstrom, I infinitely prefer the blonde 
to the brunette.” 

“ That proves your taste, Mr. Newland. The Fairfaxes 
are of a very old family, Saxon, — Mr. Newland. Fair-fax 
is Saxon for light hair. Is it not remarkable that they 
should be blondes to this day ? Pure blood, Mr. Newland. 
You, of course, have heard of General Fairfax, in the 
time of Cromwell. He was their direct ancestor — an ex- 
cellent family and highly connected, Mr. Newland. You 
are aware that they are my nieces. My sister married 
Mr. Fairfax.” 

I paid the Misses Fairfax the compliments which I 
thought they really deserved, for they were very pretty 
amiable girls, and required no puffing on the part of her-, 
ladyship; and then I commenced. “Your ladyship has 
expressed such kind wishes towards me, that I cannot be 
sufficiently grateful ; but, perhaps, your ladyship may 
think me romantic, but I am resolved never to marry 
except for love.” 

“ A very excellent resolve, Mr. Newland ; there are few 
young men who care about love now-a-days, but I consider 
that love is a great security for happiness in the wedded 
state.” 

“ True, madam, and what can be more delightful than a 
first attachment ? I appeal to your ladyship, was not your 
first attachment the most delightful — are not the remi- 
niscences the most lasting — do you not, even now, call to 
mind those halcyon days -when love was all and every 
thing?” ' ' . 

“ My days of romance are long past, Mr. Newland,” 
replied her ladyship ; “ indeed I never had much romance 
in my composition. I married Lord Maelstrom for the 
connexion, and I loved him pretty well, that is soberly, 
Mr. Newland. I mean, I loved him quite enough to marry 
him, and to obey my parents, that is all.” 

“ But, my dear Lady Maelstrom, I did not refer to your 
marriage with his lordship ; I referred to your first love.” 

“ My first love, Mr. Newland ; pray what do you mean ?” 
replied her ladyship, looking very hard at me. 

“ Your ladyship need not be ashamed of it. Our hearts 
are not in our own keeping, nor can we always control our 


OP A FATHER. 


169 


passions. I have but to mention the name of Warren- 
der.” 

“ Warrender !” shrieked her ladyship. “Pray, Mr. 
Newland,” continued' her ladyship, recovering herself, 
“ who gave you that piece of information V 

“ My dear Lady Maelstrom, pray do not be displeased 
with me, but 1 am very particularly interested in this affair. 
Your love for Mr. Warrender, long before your marriage, 
is well known to me ; and it is to that love, to which I 
referred, when I asked you if it was not most delightful.” 

“ Well, Mr. Newland,” replied her ladyship, “how you 
have obtained the knowledge I know not, but there was, I 
acknowledge, a trifling flirtation with Edward Warrender 
and me — but I was young, very young, at that time.” 

“ I grant it ; and do not, for a moment, imagine that I 
intend to blame your ladyship ; but, as I before said, 
madam, I am much interested in the business.” 

“ What interest you can have with a little flirtation of 
mine, which took place before you were born, I cannot 
imagine, Mr. Newland.” 

“ It is because it took place before I was born, that I 
feel so much interest.” 

“ I cannot understand you, Mr. Newland, and I think we 
had better change the subject.” 

“ Excuse me, madam, but I must request to continue it 
a little longer. Is Mr. Warrender dead, or not ? Did he 
die in the West Indies ?” 

“You appear to be very curious on this subject, Mr. 
Newland ; I hardly can tell. Yes, now I recollect, he did 
die of the yellow fever, I think — but I have quite for- 
gotten all about it, and I shall answer no more questions ; 
if you were not a favourite of mine, Mr. Newland, I should 
say that you were very impertinent.” 

“ Then, your ladyship, I will put but one more question, 
and that one I must put, with your permission.” 

“ I should think, after what I have said, Mr. Newland, 
that you might drop the subject.” 

“ I will, your ladyship, immediately ; but pardon me 
the question ” 

“ Well, Mr. Newland ?” 

“ Do not be angry with me ” 

“Well ?” exclaimed her ladyship, who appeared alarmed. 

“ Nothing but the most important and imperative reasons 
VoL. I. P 


170 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

could induce me to ask the question.” (Her ladyship gasp- 
ed for breath, and could not speak.) I stammered, but at 
last I brought it out. “AVhat has become of — of — of the 
sweet pledge of your love. Lady Maelstrom ?” 

Her ladyship coloured up with rage, raised up her 
clenched hand, and then fell back in violent hysterics. I 
hardly knew how to act — if I called the servants, my in- 
terview would be at an end, and I was resolved to find out 
the truth : for the same reason, I did not like to ring for 
water. - Some vases with flowers were on the table ; I took 
out the flowers, and threw the water in her face, but they 
had been in the water some time, and had discoloured it 
gre^n. Her ladyship’s dress was a high silk gown, of a 
bright slate colour, and was immediately spoiled ; but this 
was no time to stand upon trifles. I seized hold of a glass 
bottle, fancying, in my hurry, it was tail de cologne, or 
some essence, and poured a little into her mouth ; unfor- 
tunately it was a bottle of marking ink, whicli her lady- 
ship, who was very economical, had on the table in disguise. 
I perceived my error, and had recourse to another vase of 
flowers, pouring a large quantity of the green water down 
her throat. Whether the unusual remedies had an effect, 
or not, I cannot tell, but her ladyship gradually revived, and 
as she leant back on the sofa, sobbing, every now and then, 
convulsively, I poured into her ear a thousand apologies, 
until I “thought she w^as composed enough to listen to ine- 

“ Your ladyship’s maternal feeling,” said I. 

“ It’s all a calumny ! a base lie, sir !” shrieked she. 

“ Nay, nay, why be ashamed of a youthful passion ; 
why deny what was in itself creditable to your unsophis- 
ticated mind ? Does not your heart, even now, yearn to 
embrace your son : will not you bless me, if I bring him 
to your feet, — will not you bless your son, and receive him 
with delight ?” 

“ It was a girl,” screamed her ladyship, forgetting her- 
self, and again falling into hysterics. 

“ A girl !” replied I, “ then I have lost my time, and it 
is no use my remaining here.” 

Mortified at the intelligence which overthrew my hopes 
and castle buildings, I seized my hat, descended the stairs, 
and quitted the house ; in my hurry and confusion quite for- 
getting to call the servants to her ladyship’s assistance. 
Fortunately,* I perceived the Misses Fairfax close to the 


OF A FATHER. 


171 


iron railing of the garden. I crossed the road, wished 
them good-b’ye, and told them that I thought Lady Mael- 
strom looked very ill, and they had better go in to her. I 
then threw myself into the first hackney coach, and drove 
home. I found Timothy had arrived before me, and I 
narrated all that had passed. 

“You will never be able to go there again,” observed 
Timothy, “and depend upon it, she will be your enemy 
through life. I wish you had not said any thing to her.” 

“ AVhat is done cannot be undone ; but recollect that if 
she can talk, I can talk also.” 

“ Will she not be afraid?” 

“ Yes, openl}’-, she will ; but ooen attacks can be par- 
ried.” 

“ Very true.” 

“ But it will be as well to pacify her, if 1 can. I will 
write to her.” I sat down, and wrote as follows : — 

“ My dear Lady Maelstrom, — I am so astonished and 
alarmed at the situation I put you in, by my impertinence 
and folly, that I hardly know how to apologize. The fact 
is, that looking over some of my father’s old . letters, I 
found many from Warrender, in which he spoke of an 
affair with a young lady, and I read the name as your 
maiden name, and also discovered where the offspring was 
to be found. On re-examination, for your innocence was 
too evident at our meeting to admit of a doubt, I find that 
the name, although something like yours, is spelt very 
differently , and that I must have been led into an unpar- 
donable eiTor. AVhat can I say, except that I throw my- 
self on your mercy ? I dare not appear before you again. 
I leave town to-morrow, but if you can pardon my folly and 
impertinence, allow me to pay my respects when London 
is full again, and time shall have softened down your just 
anger. Write me one line to that effect, and you will re- 
lieve the burdened conscience of 

“Yours, most truly, 

“J. Newland.” 

“ There, Tim,” said I, as I finished reading it over, 
“ take that as a sop to the old Cerberus. She may think 
it prudent, as I have talked of letters, to believe me and 
make friends. I will not trust her, nevertheless.” 


172 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

Tim went away, and very soon returned with an an- 
swer. 

“You are a foolish mad-cap, and I /)ught to shut my 
doors against you; you have half killed me — spoilt my 
gown, and I am obliged to keep my bed. Remember, in 
future, to be sure of the right name before you make an 
assertion. As for forgiving you, I shall think of it, and 
when you return to town, you may call and receive my 
sentence. Cecilia was quite frightened, poor dear girl ! 
what a dear, affectionate child she is ! — she 'is a treasure 
to me, and I don’t think I ever could part with her. She 
sends her regards. “Yours, 

“ C. Maelstrom.” 

“ Come, Timothy, at all events this is better than I ex- 
pected — but now I tell you what I’ll propose to do. Har- 
court was with me yesterday, and he wishes me to go down 

with him to . There will be the assizes, and the 

county ball, and a great deal of gayety, and I have an idea 
that it is just as well to beat the country as the town. 
I dine with old Masterton on Friday. On Saturday I will 
go down and see Fleta, and on Tuesday or Wednesday I 
will start with Harcourt to his father’s, where he has pro- 
mised me a hearty welcome. Was there any thing at Cole- 
man-street?” 

“Yes, sir; Mr. Iving said that he had just received 
a letter from your correspondent, and that he wished to 
know if the little girl was well ; I told him that she was. 
Mr. Iving laid the letter down on the desk, and I read the 
post-mark, Dublin.” 

“ Dublin,” replied I. “I should like to find out who 
Melchior is — and so I will as soon as I can.” 

“ Well, sir, I have not finished my story. Mr. Iving 
said, ‘My correspondent wishes to know whether the edu- 
cation of the little girl is attended to?’ ‘Yes,’ replied I, 

‘ it is.’ ‘ Is she at school ?’ ‘ Yes, she has been at school 
ever since we have been in liondon.’ ‘ Where is she at 
school?’ inquired he. Now, sir, as I was never asked 
that question by him before, I did not know whether I 
ought to give an answer ; so I replied, ‘ that I did not know.* 
‘You know whether she is in London or not, do you not?’ 

‘ How should I ?’ replied I ; ‘ master had put her to school 


OF A FATHER. 


173 


before I put on his liveries.’ ‘ Does he never go to see 
her ?’ inquired he. ‘I suppose so,’ said I. ‘Then you 
really know nothing about it? — then look you, my lad, I 
am anxious to find out where she is at school, and the name 
of the people ; and if you will find out the direction for me, 
it will be money in your pocket, that’s all.’ ‘ Um,’ re- 
plied I, ‘ but how much ?’ ‘ Why, more than you think 

for, my man ; it will be a ten-pound note.’ ‘ That alters 
the case,’ replied I ; ‘ now I think again, I have an idea 
that I do remember seeing her address on a letter my mas- 
ter wrote to her.’ ‘ Ay,’ replied Mr. Iving, ‘ it’s astonish- 
ing how money sharpens the memory. I’ll keep to my 
bargain ; give me the address, and here’s the ten-pound ‘ 
note.’ ‘ I’m afraid that my master will be angry,’ said I, 
as if I did not much like to tell him. ‘ Your master will 
never know any thing about it, and you may serve a long 
time before he gives you a ten-pound note above your 
wages.’ ‘ That’s very true,’ said I, ‘ sarvice is no inherit- 
ance. Well, then, give me tlie money, and I’ll write it 
down.’ ” 

“ And did you give it ?” interrupted I. 

“ Stop a moment, sir, and you shall hear. I wrote 
down the address of that large school at Kensington which 
we pass when we go to Mr. Aubry White’s.” 

“ What, that tremendous large board with yellow letters 
— Mrs. Let — what is it?” 

“ Mrs. Lipscombe’s seminary — I always read the board 
every time I go up and down. I gave him the address. 
Miss Johnson, at Mrs. Lipscombe’s seminary, Kensington. 
Well — and here’s the ten-pound note, sir, ’which I think I 
have fairly earned.” 

“ Fairly earned, Tim?” 

“ Yes, fairly earned; for it’s all fair to cheat those'who 
would cheat you.” 

“ I cannot altogether agree with you on that point, Tim, 
but it certainly is no more than they deserve ; but this is 
matter for reflection. Why should Melchior wish to find 
out her address without my knowledge ? — depend upon it, 
there is something wrong.” 

“ That’s what I said to myself coming home ; and I made 
np my mind, that for some reason or another, he wishes to 
regain possession of her.” 

“ I entertain the same idea, Timothy, and I am glad you 
p2 


174 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

have disappointed him. I will take care that they shall 
not find her out, now that I am upon my guard.” 

“ But, sir, I wish to draw one good moral from this cir- 
cumstance ; which is — that if you had been served by any 
common footman, your interest would, in all probability, 
have been sacrificed to the ten-pound note ; and that not 
only in this instance, but in many others, I did a very wise 
thing in taking my present situation.” 

“ I am but too well aware of that, Tim, my dear fellow,” 
said I, extending my hand, “ and depend upon it, that if I 
rise, you do. You know me well enough by this time.” 

“ Yes, I do, Japhet, and had rather serve you than the 
first nobleman in the land. I’m going to purchase a watch 
with this ten-pound note, and I never shall look at it with- 
out remembering the advantage of keeping a watch over 
my tongue.” 

I proved the wfill of Major Carbonnell, in which there 
was no difficulty ; and then I sat down to consider in what 
way I might best husband my resources. The house was 
in good repair, and well furnished. At the time I lived 
with the major, we had our drawing-room, and his bed- 
room, and another room equally large, used as his dressing- 
room on the first floor. The second floor was appropri- 
ated to me, and the sitting-room was used as a dining-room 
when we dined at home, which was but seldom. The 
basement was let as a shop, at one hundred pounds per 
annum, but we had a private door for entrance, and the 
kitchen and attics. I resolved to retain only the first floor, 
and let the remainder of the house ; and I very soon got a 
tenant at sixty pounds per annum. The attics were appro- 
priated to Timothy and the servants belonging to the lodger. 

' Of this tenant, I shall speak hereafter. 

After having disposed of what was of no service to me, I 
found that, deducting the thousand pounds paid into the 
banker’s for Lord Windermear, I had little above three 
thousand pounds in ready money, and what to do with this 
I could not well decide. I applied to Mr. Masterton, stat- 
ing the exact amount of my finances, on the day that I 
dined with him, and he replied, “You have two good te- 
nants, bringing you in one hundred and sixty pounds per 
annum — if this money is put out on mortgage, I can pro- 
cure you five per cent., which will be one hundred and fifty 
pounds per annum. Now, the question is, do you think that 


OF A FATHER. 


175 

you can live upon three hundred and ten pounds per an- 
num ? You have no rent to pay, and I should think that, 
as you are not at any great expense for a servant, that you 
might, with economy, do very well. Recollect, that if 
your money is lent on mortgage, you will not be' able to 
obtain it at a moment’s warning. So reflect well before 
you decide.” 

I consulted with Timothy, and agreed to lend the money, 
reserving about two hundred pounds to go on with, until I 
should receive my rents and interest. On the Friday I 
went to dine with Masterton, and narrated what had passed 
between me and Lady Maelstrom. He was very much 
diverted, and laughed immoderately. “ Upon my faith, 
Mr. Newland, but you have a singular species of madness ; 
you first attack Lord Windermear, then a bishop, and, to 
crown all, you attack a dowager peeress. I must acknow- 
ledge, that if you do not find out your parents, it will not 
be for want of inquiry. Altogether, you are a most singu- 
lar character; your history is most singular, and your good 
fortune is equally so. You have made more friends before 
you have come to age, than most people do in their whole 
lives. You commence the world with nothing, and here 
you are with almost a competence — have paid off a loan 
of one thousand pounds, which was not required — and are 
moving in the best society. Now the only drawback I 
perceive in all this is, that you are in society under false 
colours, — have made people suppose that you are possessed 
of a large fortune.” 

“ It w'as not exactly my assertion, sir.” 

“ No, I grant, not exactly: but you have been a party 
to it, and I cannot allow that there is any difference. Now, 
do you mean to allow this supposition to remain uncon- 
^radicted ?” 

“ I hardly know what to say, sir; if I were to state that 
I have nothing but a bare competence, it will be only in- 
jurious to the memory of Major Carbonnell. All the 
world will suppose that he has ruined^me, and that I had 
the fortune ; whereas, on the contrary, it is to him that I 
am indebted for my present favourable position.” 

“.That may be very true, Mr. Newland; but if I am to 
consider you as my protege, and, I may add, the protege 
of Lord Windermear, I must make you quite honest — I will 
be no party to fraud in any shape. Are you prepared to 


176 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

resign your borrowed plumes, and appear before the world 
as you really are ?” 

“ There is but one inducement, sir, for me to wish that 
the world may still deceive themselves. I may be thrown 
out of society, and lose the opportunity of discovering my 
parents.” 

“ And pray, Mr. Newland, which do you think is more 
likely to tend to the discovery, a general knowledge that 
you are a foundling in search of your parents, or your pre- 
sent method, of taxing every body on suspicion? If your 
parents wish to reclaim you, they will then have their eyes 
directed towards you, from your position being known ; 
and I will add there are few parents who would not be 
proud of you as a son. You will have the patronage of 
Lord Windermear, which will always secure you a position 
in society, and the good wishes of all, although I grant 
that such worldly people as Lady Maelstrom may strike 
your name off their porter’s list. You will, moreover, 
have the satisfaction of knowing that the friends which you 
make have not been made under false colours and appear- 
ances, and a still further satisfaction arising from a good 
conscience.” 

“ I am convinced, sir, and I thank you for your advice. 

I will now be guided by you in every thing.” 

“ Give me your hand, my good lad ; I now wilt be your 
friend to the utmost of my power.” 

“ Isonly wish, sir,” replied I, much affected, “ that you 
were also my father.” 

“ Thank you for the wish, as it implies that you have a 
good opinion of me. What do you mean to do ?” 

“ I have promised my friend Mr. Harcourt to go down 
with him to his father’s.” 

‘Well?” 

“And before I go I will undeceive him.” 

“You are right; you will then find whether he is a 
friend to you, or to your supposed ten thousand pounds 
per annum. I have been reflecting, and I am not aware 
that any thing else can be done at present than acknow- 
ledging to the world who you really are, which is more 
likely to tend to the discovery of your parents than any 
other means, but at the same time I shall not be, idle. All 
we lawyers have among us strange secrets, and among 
my fraternity, to whom I shall speak openly, I think it 


OP A FATHER. 


177 


possible that somethin^ may be found out which may 
serve as a clue. Do not be annoyed at being cut by many, 
when your history is known ; those who cut you are 
those whose acquaintance or friendship* is not worth 
having ; it will unmask your friends from your flatterers, 
and you will not repent of your having been honest ; in 
the end it is the best policy, even in a worldly point of 
view. Come to me as often as you please ; I am always 
at home to you, and always your friend.” 

Such was the result of my dinner with Mr. Masterton, 
which I narrated to Timothy as soon as I returned home. 
“ Well, Japhet, I think you have found a real friend in Mr. 
Masterton, and I am glad that you have decided upon fol- 
lowing his advice. As for me, I am not under false 
colours; I am in my right situation, and wish no more.” 

In pursuance of my promise to Mr. Masterton, I called 
upon Harcourt the next morning, and after stating my 
intention to go down for a day or two into the country, 
to see a little girl who was under my care, I said to him, 
“ Harcourt, as long as we were only town acquaintances, 
mixing in society, and under no peculiar obligation to each 
other, I did not think it worth while to undeceive you 
on a point in which Major Carbonnell was deceived him- 
self, and has deceived others ; but now that you have 
oflered to introduce me into the bosom of your family, I 
cannot allow you to remain in error. It is generally sup- 
posed that I am about to enter into a large property when 
I come of age ; now, so far from that being the case, I 
have nothing in the world but a bare competence, and the 
friendship of Lord Windermear. In fact, I am a deserted 
child, ignorant of my parents, and most anxious to dis- 
cover them, as I have every reason to suppose that I am 
of no mean birth. I tell you this candidly, and unless 
you renew the invitation, shall consider that it has not 
been given.” 

Harcourt remained a short time without answering. 
“You really have astonished me, Newland ; but,” con- 
tinued he, extending his hand, “ I admire — I respect you, 
and I feel that I shall like you better. With ten thousand 
pounds a year you were above me — now we are but 
equals. I, as a younger brother, have but a bare compe- 
tence, as well as you ; and as for parents — -for the benefit 
I now derive from them, I might as well have none. 


178 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

Not but my father is a worthy, fine old gentleman, but 
the estates are entailed ; he is obliged to keep up his posi- 
tion in society, and he has a large family to provide for, 
and he can do no more. You have indeed an uncommon 
moral courage to have made this confession. Do you wish 
it to be kept a secret ?” 

“ On the contrary, I wish the truth to be known.” 

“ I am glad that you say so, as I have mentioned you as 
a young man of large fortune to my father ; but I feel con- 
vinced when I tell him this conversation, he will be much 
more pleased in taking you by the hand, than if you were 
to come down and propose to one of my sisters. I repeat 
the invitation with double the pleasure that I gave it at 
first.” 

“ I thank you, Harcourt,” replied 1 ; “ some day I will 
tell you more. I must not expect, however, that every- 
body will prove themselves as noble in ideas as your- 
self.'” 

“ Perhaps not, but never mind that. On Friday next, 
then, we start.” 

“ Agreed.” I shook hands, and left him. The beha- 
viour of Harcourt was certainly a good encouragement, 
and, had I been wavering in my promise to Mr. Masterton, 
would have encouraged me to proceed. I returned home 
Muth a light heart and a pleasing satisfaction, from the 
conviction that I had done right. The next morning I set 

off for — , and, as it was a long while since I had 

seen Fleta, our meeting was a source of delight on both 
sides. I found her very much grown and improved. She 
was approaching her fifteenth year, as near as we could 
guess — of course, her exact age was a mystery. Her mind 
was equally expanded. Her mistress praised her docility 
and application, and wished to know whether I intended 
that she should be taught music and drawing, for both of 
which she had shown a decided taste. To this I imme- 
diately consented, and Fleta hung on my shoulder and 
embraced me for the indulgence. She was now fast 
approaching to womanhood, and my feelings towards her 
were more intense than ever. 1 took the chain of coral 
and gold beads from her neck, telling her that 1 must put 
it into a secure place, as much depended upon it. She 
was curious to know why, but I would not enter into the 
subject at that time. One caution I gave her, in case by 


OP A FATHER. 


179 

any chance, her retreat should be discovered by the com- 
panions of Melchior, which was, that without I myself 
came, she was on no account to leave the school, even if 
a letter from me was produced, requesting her to come, 
unless that letter was delivered by Timothy. I gave the 
same directions to her mistress, paid up for her school- 
ing and expenses, and then left her, promising not to be 
so long before I saw her again. On my return to town I 
deposited the necklace with Mr. Masterton, who locked it 
up carefully in his iron safe. 

On the Friday, as agreed, Harcourt and I, accompanied 
by Timothy and Harcourt’s servant, started on the outside 
of the coach, as younger brothers usually convey them- 
selves, for his father’s seat in shire, and arrived 

there in time for dinner. I was kindly receiv^ed by old 
Mr. Harcourt and his family, consisting of his wife and 
three amiable and beautiful girls. But on the second day, 
during which interval, I presume, Harcourt had an oppor- 
tunity of undeceiving his father, I was delighted to per- 
ceive that the old gentleman’s warmth of behaviour 
towards me was increased. I remained there for a fort- 
night, and never was so happy. I was soon on the most 
intimate terms with the whole family, and was treated as 
if I belonged to it. Yet when I went to bed every night, 
I became more and more melancholy. I felt what a delight 
it must be to have parents, sisters, and friends — a bosom 
of a family to retire into, to share with it your pleasures 
and your pains ; and the tears often ran down my cheeks, 
and moistened my pillow, when I had not an hour before 
been the happiest of the happy, and the gayest of the gay. 
In a family party, there is nothing so amusing as any little 
talent out of the general way, and my performances and 
tricks on cards, &c., in which Melchior had made me 
such an adept, were now brought forward aS' a source of 
innocent gratification. When I quitted, I had a general 
and hearty welcome to the house from the parents : and 
the eyes of the amiable girls, as well as mine, were not 
exactly dry, as we bade each other farewell. 

You told your father, Harcourt, did you not?” 

“Yes, and the whole of them, Japhet; and you must 
acknowledge, that in their estimation you did not suffer. 
My father is pleased with our intimacy, and advises me to 
cultivate it. To prove to you that I am anxious so to do, 


180 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

I have a proposal to make. I know your house as well as 
you do, and that you have reserv'i^d only the first floor for 
yourself ; but there are two good rooms on the first floor, 
and you can dispense wfith a dressing-room. Suppose we 
club together. It will be a saving to us both, as poor 
Carbonnell said, when he took you in.” 

“With all my heart; I am delighted with the pro- 
posal.” 

Harcourt then stated what it was his intention to offer 
for his share of the apartment ; the other expenses to be 
divided, and his servant dismissed. I hardly need say 
that we did not disagree, and before I had been a week in 
town we were living together. My interview with Mr. 
Masterton, and subsequent events, had made me forget to 
call on the governors of the Foundling Hospital, to ascer- 
tain whether there had been any inquiries after me. On 
my return to town I went there, and finding that there 
was a meeting to be held on the next day, I presented my- 
self. I was introduced into the room where they were 
assembled. 

“You wish to speak with the governors of the hospital, 
I understand,” said the presiding governor. 

“Yes, sir,” replied I ; “ I have come to ask whether 
an inquiry has been made after one of the inmates of this 
charity, of the name of Japhet Newland.” 

“ Japhet Newland !” 

V “ If you recollect, sir, he was bound to an apothecary 
of the name of Cophagus, in consequence of some money 
which was left with him as an infant, enclosed in a letter, 
in which it was said that he would be reclaimed if circum- 
stances permitted.” 

“ I recollect it perfectly well — it is now about six years 
back ; I think there was some inquiry, was there not, 
Mr. G ?” 

“I think that there was, about a year and a half ago ; 
but we will send for the secretary, and refer to the mi- 
nutes.” 

My heart beat quick, and the perspiration bedewed my 
forehead, when I heard this intelligence. At last my 
emotion was so great, that I felt faint. “You are ill, 
sir,” said one of the gentlemen ; “ quick — a glass of 

water.” 

The attendant brought a glass of water, which I drank, 


OF A FATHER, 181 

and recovered myself. “You appear to oe much inte- 
rested in this 5 "Oung- man’s welfare.” 

“1 am, sir,” replied I; “no one can be more so.” 

The secretary now made his appearance with the 
register, and after turning over the leaves, read as fol- 
lows : “ August the 16th , a gentleman came to in- 

quire after an infant left here, of the name of Japhet, with 
whom money had been deposited — Japhet, christened by 
order of the governors, Japhet Newland — referred to the 
shop of Mr. Cophagus, Smithfield Market. He returned 
the next day, saying that Mr. Cophagus had retired from 
business — that the parties in the shop knew nothing for 
certain, but believed that the said Japhet Newland had 
been transported for life for forgery, about a year before.” 

“ Good heavens ! what an infamous assertion !” ex- 
claimed I, clasping my hands. 

On reference back to the calendar, we observed that one 
J. Newland was transported for such an ofience. Query ? 

“ It must have been some other person ; but- this has 
arisen from the vindi^ive feeling of those two scoundrels 
who served under Pleggit,” cried I. 

“ How can you possibly tell, sir?” mildly observed one 
of the governors. 

“How can I tell, sir?” replied I, starting from my 
chair. “Why, I am Japhet Newland myself, sir.” 

“You, sir?” replied the governor, surveying my fash- 
ionable exterior, my chains, and bijouterie. 

“Yes, sir, I am the Japhet Newland brought up in this 
asylum, and who wes apprenticed to Mr. Cophagus.” 

“Probably, then, sir,” replied the president, “you are 
the Mr. Newland whose name appears at all the f^ashion- 
able parties in high life ?” 

“I believe that I am the same person, sir?” 

“ I wish you joy upon your success in the world, sir. It 
would not appear that it can be very important to you to 
discover your parents.” 

“Sir,” replied I, “you have never known what it is to 
feel the want of parents and friends. Fortunate as you 
may consider me to be — and I acknowledge I have every 
reason to be grateful for my unexpected rise in life — I 
would at this moment give up all that I am worth, resume 
my foundling dress, and be turned out a beggar, if I could 
but discover the authors of my existence.” I then bowed 

Q 


182 ' 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 


low to the governors, and quitted the room. I hastened 
home with feelings too painful to be described. I had a 
soreness at my heart, an oppression on my spirits, which 
weighed me down. I had but one wish — that I was dead. 
I had already imparted to Harcourt the history of my life, 
and when I came in, I threw myself upon the sofa in de- 
spair, and relieved my agonized heart with a flood of tears. 
As soon as I could compose myself, I stated what had 
occurred. 

“My dear Newland, although it has been an unfortunate 
occurrence in itself, I do not see that you have so much 
cause to grieve, for you have this satisfaction, that it appears 
there has been a wish to reclaim you.” 

“ Yes,” replied I, “ I grant that, but have they not been 
told, and have they not believed, that I have been igno- 
miniously punished for a capital crime ? Will they ever 
seek me more ?” 

“Probably not; you must now seek them. What I 
should recommend is, that you repair to-morrow to the 
apothecary’s shop, and interrogate relative to the person 
who called to make inquiries after you. If you will allow 
me, I will go with you.” 

“ And be insulted by those malignant scoundrels ?” 

“ They dare not insult you. As an apothecary’s appren- 
tice they would, but as a gentleman they will quail ; and 
if they do not, their master will most certainly be civil, 
and give you all the information he can. We may as well, 
however, not do things by halves ; I will borrow my aunt’s 
carriage for the morning, and we will go in style.” \ 

“ I think I will call this evening upon Mr. Masterton, 
and ask his advice.” 

“Ask him to accompany us, Newland, and he will 
frighten them with libel, and defamation of character.” 

I called upon Mr. Masterton that evening, and told my 
story. “It is indeed very provoking, Newland ; but keep 
your courage up, I will go with you to-morrow, and we 
will see what we can make. of it. At what time do you 
propose to. start ?” 

“ Will it suit you, sir, if we call at one o’clock?” 

“Yes; so good night, my boy, for I have something 
here which I must contrive to get through before that 
time.” 

Harcourt had procured the carriage, and we picked up 


OF A FATHER. 


183 


Mr, Masterlon at the hour agreed, and proceeded to Smith- 
field. When we drove up to the door of Mr. Pleggit’s 
shop, the assistants at first imagined that it was a mis- 
take ; few handsome carriages are to be seen stopping in 
this quarter of the metropolis. We descended and en- 
tered the stop, Mr. Masterton inquiring if Mr. Pleggit was 
at home. The shopmen, who had not recognised me, 
bowed to the ground in their awkward way ; and one ran 
to call Mr. Pleggit, who was up stairs. Mr. Pleggit 
descended, and we walked into the back parlour. Mr. 
Masterton then told him the object of our calling, and 
requested to know why the gentleman who had inquired 
after me had been sent away with the infamous fabrication 
that I had been transported for forgery. Mr. Pleggit pro- 
tested innocence — recollected, however, that a person had 
called — would make every inquiry of his shopmen. The 
head man was called in and interrogated — at first appeared 
to make a joke of it, but when threatened by Mr. Masterton 
became humble — acknowledged that they had said that I was 
transported, for they had read it in the newspapers — was 
sorry for the mistake ; said that the gentleman was a very 
tall person, very well dressed, very much of a gentleman 
— could not recollect his exact dress — was a pale, fair man, 
with a handsome face — seemed very much agitated when he 
heard that I had been transported. Called twice, Mr. 
Pleggit was not in at first — left his name — thinks the name 
was put down in the day book — when he called a second 
time, Mr. Pleggit was at home, and referred him to them, 
not knowing what had become of me. The other shop- 
man was examined, and his evidence proved similar to 
that of the first. The day hook was sent for, and the day 

in August referred to ; there was a name written 

down on the side of the page, which the shopman said he 
had no doubt, indeed he could almost swear, was the gentle- 
man’s name, as there was no other name put down on that 
day. The name, as taken down, was Dcrbennon. This was 
all the information we could obtain, and we then quitted the 
shop, and drove off without there being any recognition 
of me on the part of Mr. Pleggit and his assistants. 

“ I never heard that name before,” observed Harcourt 
to Mr. Masterton. 

“ It is, in all probability, De Benyon,” replied the 
lawyer ; “we must make allowances for their ignorance. 


184 JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

At all events, this is a sort of clue to follow up. The 
De Benyons are Irish.” 

“ Then I will set off for Ireland to-morrow morning, 
sir,” said I. 

“You will do no such thing,” replied the lawyer ; “but 
you will call upon me to-morrow evening, and perhaps I 
may have something to say to you.” 

I did not fail to attend Mr. Masterton, who stated that 
he had made every inquiry relative to the De Benyons, as 
he had said ; they were an Irish family of the highest rank, 
and holding the peerage of De Beauvoir; but that he'had 
written to his agent in Dublin, giving him directions to 
obtain for him every possible information in his power 
relative to all the individuals composing it. Till this had 
been received, all that I could do was to remain quiet. I 
then narrated to him the behaviour of the agent, Mr. Iving, 
to Timothy. “ There is some mystery there, most assu- 
redly,” observed Mr. Masterton ; “ when do you go again 
to ?” 

Lreplied that it was not my intention to go there for 
some time, unless'he would wish to see the little girl. 

“ I do, Newland. I think I must take her under my 
protection as well as you. We will go down to-morrow. 
Sunday is the only day I can spare ; but it must be put 
down as a work of charity.” 

The next day we went down to . Fleta was 

surprised to see me so soon, and Mr. Masterton was much 
struck with the elegance and classical features of my little 
protege. He asked her many questions, and with his 
legal tact continued to draw from her many little points 
relative to her infant days, which she had, till he put his 
probing questions, quite forgotten. As we returned to 
town, he observed, “ You are right, Japhet, that is no 
child of humble origin. Her very appearance contradicts 
it ; but we have, I think, a chance, of discovering who she 
is — a better one. I’m afraid, than at present we have for 
your identification. — But never mind, let us trust to perse- 
verance.” 

For three weeks I continued to live with Harcourf, fjut 
I did not go out much. Such was the state of my affairs, 
Avhen Timothy came to my room one morning, and said, 
“ I do not know whether you have observed it, sir ; but 
there is a man constantly lurking about here, watching the 


OF A FATHER. 


185 


house, I believe. I think, but still I’m not quite sure, that 
I have seen his face before ; but where I cannot recollect.” 

“ Indeed, what sort of a person may he be ?” 

“ He is a very dark man, stout, and well made ; and is 
dressed in a sort of half-sailor, half-gentleman’s dress, 
such as you see put on by those who belong to the Funny 
Clubs on the river ; but he is not at all a gentleman him- 
self — quite the contrary. It is now about a week that I 
have seen him, every day ; and I have watched him, and 
perceive that he generally follows you as soon as you go 
out.” 

, “ Well,” replied I, “ we must find out what he wants — 
if we can. , Point him out to me ; I will soon see if he is 
tracing my steps.” 

Timothy pointed him out to me after breakfast ; I could 
not recollect the face, and yet it appeared that I had seen it 
before. I went out, and after passing half a dozen streets, 
I turned round, and perceived that the man was dodging 
me. I took no notice, but being resolved to try him again, 
X walked to the White Horse Cellar, and took a seat inside 
a Brentford coach about to start. On my arrival at Brent- 
ford I got out, and perceived that the man was on the roof. 
Of a sudden it flashed on my memory — it was the gipsy 
who had come to the camp with the communication to 
Melchior, which induced him to quit it. I recollected 
him — and his kneeling down by the stream and washing 
his face. The mystery was solved — Melchior had em- 
ployed him to find out the residence of Fleta. In all pro- 
bability they had applied to the false address given by 
Timothy, and in consequence were trying, by watching 
my motions, to find out the true one. “ You shall be 
deceived, at all events,” thought I, as I walked on through 
Brentford until I came to a ladies’ seminary. I rang the 
bell, and was admitted, stating my wish to know the terms 
of the school foA* a young lady, and contrived to make as 
long a stay as I could, promising to call again, if the rela- 
tives of the young lady were as satisfied as I professed to be. 
On my quitting the house, I perceived that my gipsy 
attendant was not far off. I took the first stage back, and 
returned to my lodgings. When I had told all that occur- 
red to Timothy, he replied, “ I think, sir, that if you could 
replace me for a week or two, I could now be of great 
service. Pie does not know me, and if I were to darken 
q2 


186 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

my face, and put pn a proper dress, I think I should have 
no difficulty in passing mysHf off as one of the tribe, 
knowing their slang, and having been so much with them.’^ 

“ But what good do you anticipate, Timothy ?” 

“ My object is to find out where he puts up, and to take 
the same quarters — make his acquaintance, and iind out 
who Melchior is, and where he lives. My knowledge of 
him and Nattee may perhaps assist me.” 

“You must be careful then, Timothy ; for he may know 
sufficient of our history to suspect you.” 

“ Let me alone, sir. Do you like my proposal ?” 

“Yes, 1 do; you may commence your arrangements 
immediately.” 

The next morning Timothy had procured me another 
valet, and throwing off his liveries, made his appearance in 
the evening, sending up to say a man wished to speak to 
me. He was dressed in highlow boots, worsted -stockings, 
greasy leather small-clothes, a shag waistcoat, and a blue 
frock overall. His face was stained of a dark olive, and 
when he was ushered in, neither Harcourt, who was sitting 
at table with me, or the new servant, had the slightest re- 
cognition of him. As Harcourt knew all my secrets, I had 
confided this ; but had not told him what Timothy’s inten- 
tions were, as I wished to ascertain whether his disguise 
was complete. I had merely said I had given Timothy 
leave for a few days. 

“ Perhaps you may wish me away for a short time,” 
said Harcourt, looking at Tim. 

“ Not at all, my dear Harcourt, why should I ? There’s 
nobody here but you and Timothy.” 

“ Timothy ! excellent — upon my word, I never should 
have known him.” 

“ He is going forth on his adventures.” 

“ And if you please, sir, I will lose no time. Ifis now 
dark, and I know where the gipsy hangs out.” 

“Success attend you then, but be careful, Tim. You 
had better write to me instead of calling.” 

“ I had the same idea; and now I wish you a good 
evening.” 

When Timothy quitted the room, I explained our inten- 
tions to Harcourt. “ Yours is a strange, adventurous sort 
of life, Newland ; you are constantly plotted against, and 
plotting in your turn — mines and counter-mines. I have 


OF A FATHER. 


187 

an idea tliat you will turn out some grand personage, after 
all; for if not, why should there be all this trouble about 
you ?” 

“ The trouble, in the present case, is all about Fleta ; 
who must, by your argument, turn out some grand per- 
sonage.” 

“ Well, perhaps she may. I should like to see that little 
girl, Newland.” 

“ That'cannot be just now, for reasons you well know; 
but some other time it will give me great pleasure.” 

On the second day after Tim’s departure, I received a 
letter from him by the two-penny post. He had made the 
acquaintance of the gipsy, but had not extracted any infor- 
mation, being as yet afraid to venture any questions. He 
further stated that his new companion had no objection to 
a glass or two, and that he had no doubt but that if he could 
contrive to make him tipsy, in a few days he would have 
some important intelligence to communicate. I was in a 
state of great mental agitation during this time. I went 
to Mr. Masterton, and narrated to him all that had passed. 
He was surprised and amused, and desired me not to fail 
to let him have the earliest intelligence of what came to 
light. He had not received any answer as yet from his 
agent in Dublin. It was not until eight days afterwards 
that I received further communication from Timothy ; and 
I was in a state of great impatience, combined with anxiety, 
lest any accident should have happened. His communi- 
cation was important. He was on the most intimate foot- 
in'g with the man, who had proposed that he should assist 
him to carry off a little girl, who was at a school at Brent- 
ford. They had been consulting how^ this should be done, 
and Timothy had proposed forging a letter, desiring her to 
come up to town, and his carrying it as a livery servant. 
The man had also other plans, one of which^was to obtain 
an entrance into -the house by making acquainfence with 
the servants; another, by calling to his aid some of the, 
women of his fraternity to tell fortunes : nothing was as 
yet decided, but that he was resolved to obtain possession 
of the little girl, even if he were obliged to resort to force. 
In either case Timothy was engaged to assist. AYhen I 
read this, I more than congratulated myself upon the man’s 
being on the wrong scent, and that Timothy had hit upon 
his scheme. Timothy continued : — that they had indulged ' 


188 


JAPHET, IN SEARe9 

in very deep potations last night, and that the man had not 
scrupled to say that he was employed by a person of large 
fortune, who paid well, and whom it might not be advisable 
to refuse, as he had great power. After some difficulty, 
he asked Timothy if he had ever heard the name of Mel- 
chior in his tribe. Timothy replied that he had, and that 
at the gathering he had seen him and his wife. Timothy 
at one time thought that the man was about to reveal every 
thing, but of a sudden he stopped short, and gave evasive 
answers. To a question put by Timothy, as to where 
they were to take the child if they obtained possession 
of her, the man had replied, that she would go over the 
water. Such were the contents of the letter, and I eagerly 
awaited a further communication. 

The next day I called at Long’s Hotel, upon a gentleman 
with whom I was upon intimate terms. After remaining 
a short time with him I was leaving the hotel, when I was 
attracted by some trunks in the entrance hall. I started 
when I read the address of — “ A. De Benyon, Esq. to be 

left at F 1 Hotel, Dublin.” I asked the waiter who was 

by whether Mr. De Benyon had left the hotel. He re- 
plied that he had left it in his own carriage that morning, 
and having more luggage than he could take with him, had 
desired these trunks to be forwarded by the coach. I had 
by that time resumed my serenity. I took out a memo- 
randum-book, wrote down the address on the trunks, say- 
ing that I was sorry not to have seen Mr. De Benyon, and 
that I would write to him. 

But if I composed myself before the waiter, how did my 
heart throb as I hastily passed through Bond-street to my 
home ! I had made up my mind, upon what very slight 
grounds the reader must be aware, that this Mr. De Ben- 
yon either must be my father, or if not, was able to tell me 
who was. Had not Mr. Masterton said that there was a 
clue — had he not written to Dublin ? The case was to my 
excited imagination as clear as the noon-day, and before I 
arrived home, I had made up my mind in what manner I 
should proceed. It was then about four o’clock. I hastily 
packed up my portmanteau — took with me all my ready 
money, about sixty pounds, and sent the servant to secure 
a place in the mail to Holyhead. He returned, stating that 
there was a seat taken for me. I waited till half-past five 
to see Harcourt, but he did not come home. I then wrote 


OP A FATHER. 


189 


him a short note, telling him where I was going, and pro- 
mising to write as soon as I arrived. 

“ Ireland is to be the ground of my future adventures, 
my dear Harcourt. -Call upon Mr. Masterton, and tell 
him what I have done, which he surely will approve. 
Open Timothy’s letters, and let me have their contents. 
I leave you to arrange and act for me in every respect until 
I return. In the mean time believe me, 

“ Ever yours, 

“ J. Newland.” 

I gave the letter to the valet, and calling a coach, drove 
to the office, and in less than five minutes afterwards, was 
rolling away to Holyhead, felicitating myself upon my 
promptitude and decision, little imagining to \yhat the step 
I had taken was to lead. 

It was a very dark night in November when I started on 
my expedition. There were three other passengers in the 
mail, none of whom had yet spoken a word, although we had 
made several miles of our journey. Muffled up in my cloak, 
I indulged in my own reveries as usual, building up castles 
which toppled over one after another as I built and rebuilt 
again. At last one of the passengers blew his nose, as if 
to give warning that he was about to speak ; and then in- 
quired of the gentleman next him if he had seen the even- 
ing newspapers. The other replied in the negative. “It 
would appear that Ireland is not in a very quiet state, sir,” 
observed the first. 

“Did you ever read the history of Ireland?” inquired 
the other. 

“ Not very particularly.” 

“Then, sir, if you were to take that trouble, you will 
find that Ireland, since it was first peopled, never has been 
in a quiet state, nor perhaps ever will. It is a species of 
human volcano — always either smoking, burning, or break- 
ing out into eruptions and fire.” 

“Very true, sif;'’ replied the other. “I am told the 
White Boys are mustering in large numbers, and that some 
of the districts are quite impassable.”' 

“ Sir, if you had travelled much in Ireland, you would 
have found out that many of the districts are quite impas- 
sable, without the impediment of the While Boys. 


190 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 


“ You have, been a great deal in Ireland then, sir,” re- 
plied the other. 

“ Yes, sir,” said the other, with a consequential air, “ I 
believe I may venture to say that I am in charge of Some 
of the most considerable properties in Ireland.” 

“ Lawyer — agent — five per cent. — and so on,” muttereti 
the third party, who sate by me, and had not yet spoken. 

There was no mistaking him — it was my former master, 
Mr. Cophagus ; and I cannot say that I was very well 
pleased at this intimation of his presence, as I took it for 
granted that he would recognise me as soon as it was day- 
light. The conversation continued without any remarks 
being made upon this interruption on .the part of Mr, 
Cophagus. The agent, it appeared, had been called to Lon- 
don on business, and was returning. The other was a pro- 
fessor of music, bound to Dublin on speculation. What 
called Mr. Cophagus in that direction, I could not compre- 
hend ; but I thought I would try and find out. I therefore, 
while the two others were engaged in conversation, ad- 
dressed him in a low tone of voice. “ Can you tell me, sir, 
if the College of Dublin is considered good for the instruc- 
tion of surgical pupils ?” 

“ Country good, at all events — plenty of practice — 
broken heads — and so on.” 

“ Have you ever been in Ireland, sir ?” 

“ Ireland ! — never — don’t wish to go — must go— old 
women will die — executor — botheration — and so on.” 

“I hope she has left you a good legacy, sir,” replied 1. 

“ Legacy — humph — can’t tell — silver tea-pot — suit of 
black, and so on. Long journey — won’t pay — can’t be 
helped — old women always troublesome — live or dead — 
bury her, come back — and so on.” 

Although Mr. Cophagus was very communicative in his 
own way, he had no curiosity with regard to others, and the 
conversation dropped. The other two had also asked all 
the questions which they wished, and we all, as if by one 
agreement, fell back in our seats, and shut our eyes to 
court sleep. I was the only one who wooed it in vain 
Day broke, my companions were all in repose, and I 
discontinued my reveries, and examined their physiogno- 
mies Mr. Cophagus was the first to whom I directed my 
attention. He was much the same in face' as when I 
had left him, but considerably thinner in person. His head 


OF A FATHER. 


191 


was covered with a while night-cap, and he snored with 
emphasis. The professor of music was a very small man, 
with mustachios ; his mouth was wide open, and one 
would have thought that he was in the full execution of a 
bravura. The third person, who had stated himself to be 
an agent, was a heavy, full-faced, coarse-looking person- 
age, with his hat over his eyes, and his head bent down on 
his chest, and I observed that he had a small packet in-one 
of his hands, with his forefinger twisted through the 
string. I should not have taken further notice, had not the 
name of T. Iving,, in the corner of the side on which the 
direction was, attracted my attention. It was the name of 
Melchior’s London correspondent, who had attempted to 
bribe Timothy. This induced me to look down and read 
the direction of the packet, and I clearly deciphered. Sir 
Henry De Clare, Bart., Mount Castle, Connemara. I 
took out my tablets, and wrote down the address. I cer- 
tainly had no reason for so doing, except that nothing 
should be neglected, as there was no saying what might 
'turn out. I had hardly replaced my tablets when the party 
awoke, made a sort of snatch at the packet, as if recollect- 
ing it, and washing to ascertain if it were safe, looked at it, 
took off his hat, let down the window, and then looked 
round upon the other parties. 

“ Fine morning, sir,” said he to me, perceiving that I 
was the only person awake. 

“ Very,” replied I, “ very fine ; but I had rather be 
walking over the mountains of Connemara, than be shut 
up in this close and confined conveyance.” 

“ Ha ! you know Connemara, then ? I’m going there ; 
perhaps you are also bound to that part of the country ? 
but you are not Irish.” 

“ I was not born or bred in Ireland, certainly,” re- 
plied I. 

“Sol should say. Irish blood in your veins, I presume.” 

“ I believe such to be "the case,” replied I, with a smile, 
implying certainty. 

“Do you know Sir Henry de Clare?” 

“ Sir Henry de Clare — of Mount Grunnis Castle — is he 
not?” 

“ The same ; I am going over to him. I am agent for 
his estates among others. A very remarkable man. Have 
you ever seen his wife ?” 


192 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

“1 really cannot tell,” replied I; “let me call to 
mind.” 

I had somehow or another formed an idea, that Sir 
Henry de Clare and Melchior might be one and the same 
person; nothing was too absurd or improbable for my 
imagination, and I had now means of bringing home my 
suspicions. “I think,” continued I, “ I recollect her — 
that is, if she is a very tall, handsome woman, dark eyes 
and complexion.” 

“ The very same,” replied he. 

My heart bounded at the information ; it certainly was 
not any clue to my own parentage, but it was an object of 
my solicitude, and connected with the welfare of Fleta. 
“ If I recollect right,” observed I, “ there are some curious 
passages in the life of Sir Henry ?” 

“ Nothing very particular,” observed the agent, looking 
out of the window. 

“ I thought that he had disappeared for some time.” 

“ Disappeared ! he~certainly did not live in Ireland, be- 
cause he had quarrelled with his brother. He lived in 
England. until his brother’s death.” 

“ How did his brother die, sir?” 

“Killed by a fall when hunting,” replied the agent. 
“ He was attempting to clear a stone wall, the horse fell 
back on him, and dislocated his spine. I was on the spot 
when the accident happened.” 

I recollected the imperfect communication of Fleta, who 
had heard the gipsy say that “ he was dead ;” and also 
the word horse made use of, and I now felt convinced that 
I had found out Melchior. “ Sir Henry, if I recollect 
right, has no family,” observed I. 

“ No ; and I am afraid there is but little chance.” 

“ Had the late baronet, his elder brother, any family ?” 

“ What, Sir William ! No ; or Sir Henry would not 
have come into the title.” 

“ He might havediad daughters,” replied I. 

“Very true; now I think of it, there was a girl who 
died when young.” 

“ Is the widow of Sir William alive ?” , 

“Yes ; and a very fine woman she is; but she has left 
Ireland since her husband’s death.” 

T did not venture to ask any more questions. Our 


OF A FATHER. 


193 


conversation had roused Mr. Cophagus and the other pas- 
sengers, and as I had reflected how I should behave in 
case of a recognition, I wished to be prepared for him^ 
“ You have had a good nap, sir,” said 1, turning to him. 

“Nap — yes — coach-nap, bad — head sore — and so on.' 
Why — bless me — Japhet — Japhet New — yes — it is.” 

“ Do you speak to me, sir ?” inquired I, with a quiet 
air. 

“ Speak to you — yes — bad memory — hip ! quite forgot 
— old master — shop in Smithfield — mad bull — and so on.” 

“ Really, sir,” replied I, “ I am afraid you mistake me 
for some other person.” 

Mr. Cophagus looked very hard at me, and perceiving 
that there was no alteration in my countenance, ^exclaimed, 
“ Very odd — same nose — same face — same age too — very 
odd — like as two pills — beg pardon — made a mistake — 
and so on.” 

Satisfied with the discomfiture of Mr. Cophagus, I 
turned round, when I perceived the Irish agent, with 
whom I had been in conversation, eying me most atten- 
tively. As I said before, he was a hard-featured man, and 
his small gray eye was now fixed upon me, as if it would 
have pierced me through. I felt confused for a moment, 
as the scrutiny was unexpected from that quarter ; but a 
few moment’s reflection told me, that if Sir Henry de 
Clare and Melchior were the same person, and this man 
his agent, in all probability he had not been sent to Eng- 
land for nothing ; that if he was in search of Fleta, he must 
have heard of my name, and perhaps something of my 
history. “ I appear to have a great likeness to many 
people,” observed I, to the agent, smiling. “ It was but 
the other day I was stopped in Bond-street, as a Mr. Raw- 
linson.” 

“ Not a very' common face either, sir,” observed the 
agent; “if once seen not easily forgotten, or easily mis- 
taken for another.” 

“ Still, such appears to be the case,” replied I, care- 
lessly. 

We now stopped to take refreshment. I had risen 
from the table, and was going into the passage, when I 
perceived the agent looking over the way-bill with the 
guard. As soon as he perceived me, he walked out into 
the front of the inn. Before the guard had put up the bill, 
VoL. I R 


194 


JAPHET, IN SEARCH 

. I requested to look at it, wishing to ascertain if I had been 
booked in my own name. It was so. The four names 
W'ere — Newland, Cophagus, Baltzi, M‘Dermott. I was 
much annoyed at this circumstance. M‘Dermott was, of 
course, the name of the agent ; and that was all the infor- 
mation I received in return for my own exposure, which I 
now considered certain ; I determined, however, to put a 
good face on the matter, and when we returned to the 
coach, again entered into conversation with Mr. M‘Der- 
mott, but I found him particularly guarded in his replies 
whenever I spoke about Sir Henry or his family, and I 
could not obtain any further information. Mr. Cophagus 
could not keep his eyes off me — he peered into my face — 
then he would fall back in the coach. “ Odd — very odd — 
must be — no — says not — um.” In about another half 
hour, he would repeat his examination, and mutter to him- 
self. At last, as if tormented with his doubts, he ex- 
claimed, “ Beg pardon — but — you have a name ?” 

“ Yes,” replied I ; “ I have a name.” 

“ Well, then — not ashamed. What is it ?” 

“ My name, sir,” replied I, “ is Newland ;” for I had 
resolved to acknowledge to my name, and fall back upon a 
new line of defence. 

“ Thought so — don’t know me — don’t recollect shop — 
Mr. Brookes’s — Tim — rudiments — and so on.” 

“I have not the least objection to tell you my name; 
but I am afraid you have the advantage in your recollection 
of me. Where may I have had the honour of meeting 
you ?” 

“ Meeting — what, quite forgot — Smithfield ?” 

“ And pray, sir, where may Smithfield be ?” 

“ Very odd — can’t comprehend — same name, same face 
— don’t recollect me, don’t recollect Smithfield ?” 

“ It may be very odd, sir ; but as I am very well known 
in London, at the west end, perhaps we have met there. 
Lord Windermear’s, perhaps — Lady Maelstrom’s — and I 
continued mentioning about a dozen of the most fashionable 
names. At all events, you appear to have the advantage 
of me ; but 1 trust you will excuse my want of memory, as 
my acquaintance is very extensive.” 

“ I see — ^quite a mistake — same name — not same person 
— beg pardon, sir, — apologies — and so on,” replied the 
'apothecary, drawing a long sigh. 


OF A FATHER. 


195 


I watched the countenance of the agent, who appeared 
at last to be satisfied that there had been some mistake ; at 
least he became more communicative, and as I no longer 
put any questions to him relative to Sir Henry, we had a 
long conversation. I spoke to him about the De Benyons, 
making every inquiry that I could think of. He informed 
me that the deceased earl, the father of the present, had 
many sons, who were some of them married, and that the 
family was extensive. He appeared to know them all, 
the^ professions which they had been brought up to, and 
their careers in life. I treasured up his information, and 
as soon as I had an opportunity, wrote down all which he 
had. told me. On our arrival at Holyhead, the weather 
was very boisterous, and the packet was to depart imme- 
diately. Mr. M‘Dermott stated his intentions to go over, 
but Mr. Cophagus and the professor declined ; and, anx- 
ious as I was to proceed, I did not wish to be any longer 
in company with the agent, and, therefore, also declined 
going on board. Mr. M‘Dermott called for a glass of 
brandy and v/ater, drank it off in haste, and then, followed 
by the porter, with his luggage, went down to embark. 

As soon as he was gone I burst out into a fit of laughter. 
“Well, Mr. Cophagus, acknowledge that it is possible to 
persuade a man out of his senses. You knew me, and 
you were perfectly right in asserting that I was Japhet, 
yet did I persuade you at last that you was mistaken. But 
I will explain to you why I did so.” 

“ All right,” said the apothecary, taking my proffered 
hand, “ thought so — no mistake — handsome fellow — so 
you are — Japhet Newland — my apprentice — and so on.” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied I, laughing. “I am Japhet New- 
land.” (I turned round, hearing a noise, the door had been 
opened, and Mr. M‘Dermott had just stepped in ; he had 
returned for an umbrella which he had forgotten; he looked 
at me, at Mr. Cophagus, who still held my hand in his, 
turned short round, said nothing, and walked out.) “ This 
is unfortunate,” observed I, “ my reason for not avowing 
myself, was to deceive that very person, and now I have 
made the avowal to his face ; however, it can’t be helped.” 

I sat down with my old master, and as I knew that I 
could confide in him, gave him an outline of my life, and 
stated my present intentions. 

“I see, Japhet, I see — done mischief — sorry for it — 


196 JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 

can’t be help’d — do all I can — um — what’s to be done ? — 
be your friend — always liked you — ^^help all I can — and so 
on.” 

“ But wdiat would you advise, sir?” 

“ Advice — bad as physic — nobody takes it — Ireland — 
wild place — no law — better to go back — leave all to me — 
find out — and so on.” 

This advice I certainly could not consent to follow. 


END OF VOLUME I 


CHESNUT STREET, 

JAKUART, 1835 

NEW WORKS 

LATELY PUBLISHED, 

AND 

PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION, 

BY 

E. L. CAREY & A. HART, PHILAD. 


In Three Volumes, 12mo. 

JACOB FAITHFUL; 

OR, LIFE ON THE WATER. 

COMPLETE. 

By the Author of “ Peter Simpee,” “ Kiiro’s Owk,” &c. 

“ It is replete with amusement and oddity. Poor Jacob was born on the 
water. ‘ It was,’ says he, ‘ in a floating sort of a box, called a lighter, and 
upon the river Thames, that I first smelt the mud.’ "—Baltimore Gazette. 

“ Equal in merit to Peter Simple, and perhaps even more entertaining, 
are the adventures of Jacob Faithful, another of the whimsical creations 
of Captain Marryatt’s prolific brain .” — Saturday Courier. 

“It is full of character and incident, and will, we doubt not, be a uni” 
versal favourite.” — Lit. Oaz. 


In Three Volumes, 12mo. 

PETER SIMPLE; 

OR, ADVENTURES OF A MIDSHIPMAN. 

COMPLETE. 

By the Author of the “King’s Own,” “Naval Officer,” &c. 

“The quiet humour which pervades the work is irresistibly amusing, 
and the fund of anecdote and description which it contains, entertaining. 
The humour sometimes approaches to downright burlesque, and the inci- 
dent to extravagance, if not improbability; but, altogether, as a book of 
amusement, it is excellent .” — Baltimore Gazette. 

“ Those who are the most competent to judge, say that Captain Marryatt 
is altogether superior to any other writer of naval sketches of descrip- 
tions, living or dead.” — JV*. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

“ This is the best work that Captain Marryatt has produced.” — Atlas. 

“ ‘Peter Simple’ is certainly the most amusing of Captain Marryatt’s 
amusing novels ; a species of picture quite unique ; a class by themselves, 
full of humour, truth, and graphic sketches .” — Literary Gazette. 

“ This is an admirable work, and worthy of the noble servico it is writ 
ten to illustrate .” — Spectator 


NEW WORKS PUBLISHED Uy 


In Two Volumes, 12ma 

- THE NAVAL OFFICER; 

OR, SCENES AND ADVENTURES IN THE LIFE 
OF FRANK MILDMAY. 

By the Author of " Peter Simple,” “ The King’s Own,” etc. 

“This is the most seaman-like composition that has yet issued from the 
press. We recommend it to all who ‘ live at home at ease,’ and need 
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— Atlas, 

The following beautiful and judicious compliment to the genius of Cap- 
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who, it will be acknowledged, is no inexperienced or unobserving critic: 

“ Far remote from the eastern and the voluptuous— from the visionary 
and refining^trom the pale colouring of drawing-room life, and the subtle 
delicacie&of female sentiment and wit, the genius of Captain Marryatt 
embodies itself in the humour, the energy, the robust and masculine vigour 
of bustling and actual existence ; it has been braced by the sea breezes; 
it walks abroad in the mart of busy men, with a firm step and a cheerful 
and healthy air. Not, indeed, that he is void of a certain sentiment, and 
an intuition into the more hidden sources of mental interest; but these 
are not his forte, or his appropriate element. He is best in a rich and 
various humour — rich, for there is nothing poor or threadbare in his ma- 
terials. His characters are not, as Scott’s, after all, mere delineations of 
one oddity, uttering the same eternal phraseology, from the ‘ prodigious’ of 
Dominie Sampson, to ‘ provant’ of Major Dalgetly— a laughable, but some- 
what poor invention ; they are formed of compound and complex character- 
istics, and evince no trilling knowledge of the metaphysics of social life,” 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE KING^S OWN; 

A TALE OF THE SEA.. 

By the Author of “ The Natal Officer,” “ Peter Simple,” etc. 

“ An excellent novel.” — Edinburg Review. 

“ Captain Marryat may take his place at the head of the naval novelists 
of the day.” — United Service Journal. 

✓ 

‘‘The adventures of llie hero, through bold and stirring scenes, lose not a 
jot of their interest to the last, while the naval descriptions of sights and 
deeds on shipboard may be compared with any similar production of which 
we have any knowledge.” — dtlas. 

‘‘ A very remarkable book, full of vigour, and characterized by incidents 
of perfect originality, both as to conception and treatment. Few persons 
will take up the book without going fairly through it to the catastrophe, 
which startles the reader by its unexpected nature.”— Literary Gazette. 

‘‘ Replete with genius. The w'ork will go far permanently to fix the 
name of Captain Marryat among the most popular and successful writers 
of fiction of the age."— Felix Farley' << Bristol Journal. 

‘‘ A work, perhaps, not to be equalled in the whole round of romance, 
for the tremendous powjer of its descriptions, for the awfulness of its sub- 
jects, and for the brilliancy and variety of the colours with which they 
are painted.” — Spectator. 

2 


E. L. CAREY AND A. HART. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 

By the Author of “ Peter Simple,” &c. 
ADVENTURES OF 

JAPHET IN SEARCH OF HIS FATHER. 

By the Author of “ Jacob Faithful,” “ King’s Own,’ &c. 

{In Press.) 


In Three Volumes, 12mo. 

TOM CRINGL E^S LOG. 

COMPLETE. 

A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND CORRECTED. 

“The scenes are chiefly nautical, and we can safely say that no author 
of th3 present day, not even excepting our own Cooper, has surpassed him 
in his element.” — U. S. Gazette. 

“The sketches are not only replete with entertainment, but useful, as 
affording an accurate and vivid description of scenery, and of life and 
manners in the West Indies.” — Boston Traveller. 

“ We think none who have read this work will deny that the author is 
the best nautical writer who has yet appeared. He is not Smollett, he is 
not Cooper ; but he is far superior to them both.”— Boston Transcript. 

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and interest never surpassed by any writer.” — Baltimore Gazette. 

“The author has been justly compared with Cooper, and many of his 
sketches are in fact equal to any from the pen of our celebrated country, 
man.” — Saturday Evening Post. 

“ A pleasant but a marvellously strange and wild amalgamation of wa* 
ter and earth is ‘Tom Cringle;’ full of quips and cranks, and toils and 
pranks A fellow of fun and talent is he, with a prodigious taste for 
yarns long and short, old and new; never, or but seldom, carrying more 
sail than ballast, and being a most delightful companion, both by land and 
sea. We were fascinated with the talents of Tom when we met hina in 
our respected contemporary from the biting north. His Log vvas to us hKe 
a wild breeze of ocean, fresh and health-giving, with now and then a dash 
of the tearful, that summoned the sigh from our heart of hearts; but now 
that the yarns are collected and fairly launched, we hail them as a source 
of much gratification at this dull season. Tom Cringle a^ a Christmas 
fire! may toell join in the chorus of ‘ Begone, dull care!' The ‘ Q,uenching 
of the Torch’ is one of the most pathetic descriptions \ye ever ■'^ud. The 
‘ Scenes at Jamaica’ are full of vigour. As a whole, we have no hesitation 
in pronouncing ‘The Log’ the most entertaining book of the season. 
There has been a sort of Waverley mystery thrown over the authorship 
of these charming papers; and though many have guessed the author, yet 
we take unto ourselves the credit of much sagacity in imagining we 
only have solved the enigma there are passagp in Tom Cringle that 
we believe no living author except Professor Wilson himself could write, 
snatches oj pure, exalted, and poetic feeling, so truly Wilsonian, that we pen- 
ciled them as we read on. and said. There he is again, and again, and again, 
to the very last chapter."— fiTew Monthly Magazine. ^ 


NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY 


THE CRUISE OF THE MIDGE. 

By the Author of “ Tom Cringle’s Log.” 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE MAN-OF-WAR’S-M AN. 

By the Author of “ Tom Cringle’s Log.” 

“No stories of adventures are more exciting than those Of seamen. The 
author of Tom Cringle’s Log is the most popular writer of that class, and 
those sketches collected not long since into a volume by the same publish* 
ers, in this city, were universally read. A large edition was soon ex- 
hausted. The present is, we believe, an earlier production, and has many 
of the same merits .” — Baltimore Gazette. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE PORT ADMIRAL; 

A TALE OF THE SEA. 

By the Author of “ Cavendish.” 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

LIVES OF THE ENGLISH PIRATES, 
HIGHWAY-MEN, AND ROBBERS. 

BY CHARLES WHITEHEAD. 

“These are truly entertaining volumes, fraught with anecdote, and 
abounding in extraordinary adventures.”— JVaaai and Military Gazette. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

CAVENDISH; 

OR, THE PATRICIAN AT SEA. 

The following Notice is from the pen of Mr. Bulwer. 

“The peculiar characteristics of Captain Marryatt are shared by some 
of his nautical brethren; and the author of ‘ Cavendish’ has evinced much 
ability a.nd very vigorous promise in the works that have issued from his 
pen.” 

“ We should find it very difficult to be very angry with the 'Patrician * 
even if he had fifty times his real number of faults, on account of the 
jovial, easy, reckless, off-hand style of character that seems to belong 
to him. Our sea portraits multiply so fast, and advance so rapidly in ex- 
cellence, that we become fastidious, and insist upon a likeness where 
formerly we were contented with a caricature. ‘Cavendish’ partakes of 
both.. .. .Into these thousand or rather ten thousand scrapes, we cannot 
follow him, but the reader may, much to his advantage. The Navarino 
narrative, in particular, will be read with an interest proportioned to the 
truth and spirit with which it is told.”— JVcw Monthly Magazine. 

4 


E. L. CAREY AND A. HART. 


New and cheap Edition, in Two Volumes, 12mo., of the 

MEMOIRS OF VIDOCQ, 

THE CELEBRATED AGENT OF THE FRENCH POLICE. 

But it is not our province or intention to enter into a discussion of the 
veracity of Vidocq’s Memoirs; be they true or false; were they purely 
fiction from the first chapter to the last, they would, from fertility of in* 
vention, knowledge of human nature, and ease of style, rank only second 
to the novels of Le Sage. The first volume is perhaps more replete with 
interest, because the hero is the leading actor in every scene; but in the 
(Subsequent portions, when he gives the narrative of others, we cannot but 
admire the power and graphic talent of the author. Sergeant Bellerose is 
scarcely inferior to the Sergeant Kite of Farquhar; and the episodes of 
Court and Raoul, and that of Adele d’Escars, are surpassed in description, 
depth of feeling, and pathos, by no work of romance with which we are 
acquainted.'* 

From ike Boston Traveller. 

“ Memoirs of Vidocq. — He who reads this book, being previously unac 
quainted with the mystery of iniquity, will find himself introduced at 
once into a new world: but it, is a world which must be known only to 
be avoided. Never before was such a mass of depravity opened to the 
mind of inquiry in a single volume. It was well said by Byron, “ truth 
is strange, stranger than fiction.” Whoever passes through the details of 
this singular exposition, -supposing it to contain correct delineations of 
fact, will be satisfied of the justness of this remark. 

“The details of the varied scenes through which he has passed in pri- 
vate and public life, surpass all the creations of fancy, and all the deline- 
ations of fact, from the wonderful relations of the Arabian Nights to the 
renowned exploits of Mr. Lemuel Gulliver; and from the extraordinary 
sufferings and escapes of the celebrated Baron Trenck to the still more 
marvellous exploits of the famous Mr. Thomas Thumb. 

“ It would seem, on following this singular writer through his adven- 
tures, as if all the crimes of which human nature is capable, all the hor- 
rors of which the universe has heard, all the astonishing incidents which 
history can develope or imagination portray, all the cool-blooded malice 
of the assassin, and all the varied machinations of the most ingenious and 
systematic practitioners in the school of vice, in all its varied depart- 
ments, had been crowded into the life of a single individual, or come 
beneath his cognizance. The lover of mystery, who delights to “ sup upon 
horrors ” the admirer of romance, who is pleased with the heightened pic- 
tures of the most fanciful imagination, and the inquirer into the policy 
of crime and its prevention, may here have ihclr utmost curiosity satiated. 

“Vidocq, during the early portion of his life, was personally initiated 
into all the mysteries of crime, and becoming afterward a pardoned man, 
and an active and successful agent of the French police in the city of Paris, 
“fiirt with its silent crimes,” as well as its tumultuous depravities, be- 
comes a fit person to delineate its scenes of vice, depravity, and guilt. 
His work is a study for the novelist, the annalist, the philosopher, and the 
Christian But it is a work which should be read with a guarded mind; 
with a disposition to profit by its lessons, and to avoid scenes which have 
kittle enjoyment, and which invariably end in misery. 


In Two Volumes 12mo. 

THE HAMILTON S. 

By the Author of “ Mothers and Daughters.” 

“This is a fashionable novel, and of the highest grade.”— 

- Mrs Gore is undeniably one of the wittiest writers of the present day. 
• The Hamiltons' is a mostlively, clever, and entertaining work ”— Z-H Ga* 
“The design of the book is new, and the execution excellent. —Exam. 


NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

FIRST AND LAST. 

By the Author of “ Five Nights of St. Albans.” 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

A YEAR AT HARTLEBURY. 

BY CHERRY AND FAIR-STAR. • 

' Most pleasant Cherry ! most brilliant Fair-star 1 we hail ye and wel- 
come ye both : agreeable and profitable will be the scenes you paint.— 
We cordially recommend ‘ Hartlebury’ to our friends, convinced that our 
friends will be pleased and amused by its acuteness and variety.” — AVw 
Monthly Magazine. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE WEST INDIA SKETCH-BOOK. 

•' The sketches are worthy of George Cruikshank.”— GZoJe. 


In Three Volumes, 12mo. 

THE COQUETTE. 

By the Author of “ Miserrtmus.” 

” The ‘ Coquette’ is a most amusing library book. Several of the cha- 
racters are exceedingly well drawn : indeed, they are obviously sketches 
from life, and there is a sparkling vivacity throughout the whole work.” 
— JVew Monthly Magazine. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE MISERIES OF MARRIAGE; 

OR, THE FAIR OP MAY FAIR. 

By the Author of “ Pin Monet,” &c. 

“Mrs. Gore certainly stands at the head of the female novelists of the 
day. But we subjoin the opinion of Mr. Bulwer.” — U. S. Gazette. 

“ She is the consummator of that undefinable species of wit, which we 
should call (if we did not know the word might be deemed offensive, in 
w^hich sense we do not mean it) the slang j>( good society. 

“ But few people ever painted, with so felicitous a hand, the scenery of 
worldly life, without any apparent satire. She brings before you the hol- 
lowness, the manoeuvres, and the intrigues of the world, with the bril- 
liancy of sarcasm, but with the quiet of simple narrative. Her men and 
women, in her graver tales, are of a noble and costly clay; their objects 
are great; their minds are large, their passions intense and pure. She 
walks upon the stage of the world of fashion, and her characters, have 
grown dwarfed as if by enchantment. The air of frivolity has blighted 
their stature ; their colours are pale and languid; they have no generous 
ambition ; they are little people ! they are fine people ! This it is that makes 
her novel of our social life so natural, and so clear a transcript of the 
original ” — The Author of Pelham. 


E. L.CAREY AND A. HART. 


In One Volume, 12mo. 

SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OP 

SIR PUMPKIN FRIZZLE, K. C. B. 

AND OTHER TALES. 

“ Decidedly one of the most amusing productions of the year. In addi- 
lion to the adventures of Sir Pumpkin^ there are several capital stories, 
which cannot fail lo be popular.” ^ 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

ADVENTURES OF GILBERT GURNEY. 

BY THEODORE HOOK, 

Author of “ Sayings and Doings.” 


In One Volume, 8vo. 

MEMOIRS OF THE 

BEAUTIES OF THE COURT 

OF CHARLES THE SECOND. 

BY MRS. JAMESON. 

Author of “ Diary of an Ennuyee,” “ Characteristics 

OF Women,” &c. 

“ New work. — Messrs. Carey & Hart, Philadelphia, have in press a popu- 
lar book, ‘ The Beauties of the Court of King Charles the Second,’ written 
by Mrs. Jameson, whose father had been employed by the princess Char- 
lotte to paint cabinet pictures of those too celebrated ladies. The princess 
died before they were completed, and the consequence was, they were 
never paid for. The circumstances of the family required some use should 
be made of the paintings to produce a remuneration; and Mrs. Jameson 
undertook the delicate task of the letter press, the portraits being engraved 
in the highest style of art. The London copy costs about twenty-five dol- 
lars : the American edition will be an octavo without the portraits. Nell 
Gwynn, the Duchess of Hamilton, &.c. are not unknown characters in his- 
tory. Mrs. Jameson has executed her department in a remarkably grace- 
ful manner .” — Journal of Belles Leltres. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

SYDENHAM; 

OR, MEMOIRS OF A MAN OF THE WORLD. 

“The work before us is one of the most powerful of its class ; it bears 
intrinsic evidence of a new writer. The portrait of Brummel, the ‘ arch 
dandy,’ is excellent, and all the scenes in which he is engaged are ma- 
naged with skill and tact. There is, in fact, sufficient material in this book 
for thr^ or four novels ,” — Monthly Magazine. 

“ Each of these volumes is in fact a separate work — each in a different 
style and spirit — each aspiring to a different fame in composition. ‘Sy- 
denham’ is a capital work, which, without the trouble of puffing, must 
make a great stir in the upper and political circles.”— Zondo/i LitiJ^az. 


NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

ALICE PALLET; 

BEIKG A S£Q,U£L TO STDEN'EAM ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A MAK OF 

THE WORLD.” 

By the Author of “ Sydenham.” 

“Two most amusing and clever volumes, decidedly improvements on 
their predecessors. The great characteristic of this work is its good sense.” 
— London. Literary Gazette, 

“Conceived and sketched in the very spirit of Hogarth.” — Courier. 
“Great strength of mind, knowledge of the world, and acQuaintance 
with the higher circles of society, are visible in every page.” — Cheltenham 
Chronicle, 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

TRAVELS IN VARIOUS PARTS 

OF PERU ; . 

INCLUDING A YEAR’s RESIDENCE IN POTOSI. 

By Edmund Temple, Kt. of the Royal and distinguished Order 

of Charles III. 

“These travels in Peru will long maintain their reputation for the ac* 
curacy of detail, the spirit of the style, and the utility of the information 
they contain. The professional matter is very valuable.” — Bulwer's JSTew 
Monthly Magazine, 

“There is much to instruct, and a great deal to amuse. Amid the de- 
tails of personal adventures, there is a great deal of shrewd and strong ob- 
servation.” — London Monthly Magazine. 

“We have met with no volumes of travels in that country with which, 
upon the whole, we have been so much pleased as the one before us.” — 
Baltimore Gazette, 

“ This is an instructive and entertaining work.” — National Gazette, 

“ This book is one of the most entertaining that has been issued from 
the press for some time.” — Pennsylvania Inquirer. 


fn Two Volumes, 12mo. 

RECORDS OF TRAVELS 
IN TURKEY, GREECE, & lc . 

IN THE YEARS 182 9, 183 0, AND 1831; 

AND OP A CRUISE IN THE BLACK SEA, WITH THE CAPTAIN PASHA. 

BY ADOLPHUS SLADE, Esq. 

“One of the most valuable and interestinjr works which has yet been 
placed in our hands, on the domestic state of Turkey.”— A/oratA/y Review. 

“ We do not know when we have met with two volumes more amusine 
—they are full of highly entertaining and curious matter.’'— Court Jour. ® 

“ The work before us supplies the best description of this remarkable 
nation.” — Courier, 

“ One of the most amusing and interesting of oriental travellers none 
having ever equalled him in a thorough knowledge of the true state of 
«)ciety, and the true cliaracter of the Turks "Spectator. 

“ We can warmly recommend this b(tok for perusal, it is not only very 
amusing but very vataable."— Metropolitan. ^ 

8 


E. L. CAREY AND A. HART. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE 

IRISH PEASANTRY 

FIRST SERIES. 

“ Admirable — truly, intensely Irish : never were the outrageous whimsi- 
calities of that strange, wild, imaginative people so characteristically de- 
scribed; nor amidst all the fun, frolic, and folly, is there any dearth of 
poetry, pathos, and passion. The author ’s a jewel .’* — Glasgow JoumaL 

*‘To those who have a relish for a few tit-bits of rale Irish story-tell- 
ing, — whether partaking of the tender or the facetious, or the grotesque, — 
let them purchase these characteristic sketches .” — Sheffield Iris. 

The sister country has never furnished such sterling genius, such irre- 
sistibly humorous, yet faithful sketches of character among the lower ranks 
of Patlanders, as are to be met with in the pages of these delightful vo- 
lumes .” — Bristol Journal. 

“This is a capital book, full of fun and humour, and most character- 
istically Irish.” — JVew Monthly Magazine. 

“ Neither Miss Edgeworth, nor the author of the O’Hara Tales, could have 
written any thing more powerful than this .” — Edinburgh Literary Gazette. 


In two Volumes, 12rno. 

TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE 

IRISH PEASANTRY. 

THIRD SERIES. 

*' This work has been most extravagantly praised by the English critics : 
and several extracts from it have been extensively published in our news* 
papers. It is altogether a better work than any of the kind which has 
yet appeared — replete with humour, both broad and delicate— and with 
occasional touches of pathos, which have not been excelled by any writer 
of the present day. An Edinburgh critic says that ‘ neither Miss Edge- 
worth, nor the author of the O’Hara tales, could nave written any thing 
more powerful than this.’ "—Baltimore American. 


In two Volumes, 12ma 

PIN MONEY; 

BY MRS. CHARLES GORE, 

Authoress of “ Hungarian Tales,” “ Polish Tales,” etc. 

“ Her writings have that originality which wit gives to reality, and wit 
is the great characteristic of her pages.” — Buhoer's J^ew Monthly Magazine. 

“ Light spirited and clever, the characters are drawn with truth and 
vigour. Keen in observation, lively in detail, and with a peculiar and 
piquant style, Mrs. Charles Gore gives to the novel that charra which 
makes the fascination of the best French memoir writers.”— London Lite- 
rary Gazette. 


9 


WEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE STAFF- OFF ^ICER. 

OR, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. 

A TALE OF REAL LIFE. 

“The web of life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together; our vir- 
tues would be proud if our faults whipped them not, and our crimes would 
despair if they were not cherished by our virtues/’ 

BY OLIVER MOORE. ^ 

“We are prepared to admit that our extracts do not do justice to the 
work: the writer’s power is in discriininuting/cmaZe character ; but as he 
judiciously makes it develope itself by incider t, to illustrate this would 
require scenes and pages to be transferred to our columns. As a whole, 
this novel will be read with interest : it is light and pleasant ; with many 
very natural scenes, many excellent and well-drawn characters, and with- 
out one line or word of affectation or pretence.” — AtheiKEum. 

“ This is a most entertaining work : it is written with great spirit, ele- 
gance, and candour. The delineation of character (particularly that of 
many distinguished individuals officially connected with Ireland during 
the Pitt administration) is skilfully and viVidly drawn ; and the multifa- 
rious incidents— several of which are of a highly piquant description — 
are given with a tact and delicacy creditable to the judgment and talent 
of the author. We can say wiih truth, that we have fairly gone through 
this tale of real life without being cloyed or wearied for a single moment; 
but that it excited, and kept up, an interest in our minds which few vo- 
lumes designed for mere amusement have been able to inspire.” — Brigh- 
ton Herald. 


^ In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS. 

“ Tile best novel of the season— a faithful, exact, and vi^ilhal spirited 
picture of the aristocracy of this country — an admirable description of 
what is called high life, and full of a more enlarged knowledge of human 
nature.” — Spectator. 

“A very lively and amusing panorama of actual life.”— Zi«. Gazette. 


In one Volume, 12mo. 

C A R W E L L , 

By Mrs. Sheridan, Author of “Aims and Ends.” 

“ A story which for minute fidelity to truth, for high tragic conception, 
both of plot and character, has few equals in modern fiction.” 

“But everywhere you see that rarest of all literary beauties, a beau- 
tiful mind— an intimate persuasion of the fine and great truths of the 
human heart —a delicate and quick perception of the Iove*v and the honest 
— an intellect that profits by experience, and a disposition^ which that 
experience cannot corrupt .” — The Author of Pelham. 


10 



E. L. CAREY AND A. HART. 


. In one Volume, 12mo. 

THE GENTLEMAN IN BLACK. 

“ It is very clever and very entertaining — replete with pleasantry and 
humour: quite as imaginative as any German diablerie, and far more 
amusing than most productions of its class. It is a very whimsical and 
well devised jeu d’esprit.” — Literary Gazette. > 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE INVISIBLE GENTLEMAN. 

By the Author of “ Chabtlet,” “ The Fatalist, etc. etc. 

“ It is a novel which may be termed the whimsically supernatural.” — 
Atkeneeuzn. 

“ The present narrative is one of the most entertaining fictions we have 
met with for a long time ; the idea i.s very original, and brought into play 
with a lively air of truth, which gives a dramatic reality even to the su- 
pernatural.’' — Literary Gazette. 

“ The adventures follow each other with delightful rapidity and variety ; 
occasionally there is a deep and thrilling touch of pathos, w hi cli we feel 
not a bit the less acutely, because the trouble and wo of the parties have 
originated in the familiar and somewhat laughable act of pulling an ear.” 
— Court Magazine. 


In one Volume, I2mo. 

LEGENDS AND TALES OF IRELAND 


BY SAMUEL LOVER. 


In Two Volumes, 12rao; 

FIVE NIGHTS OF ST. ALBANS. 

“Some man of talent has taken up the old story of the Wandering Jew, 
to try what he could make of a new version of it. He has succeeded in 
composing as pretty a piece diaolerie as ever made candles burn blue at 
midnight. The horrors of Der Freisclivtz are mere child’s play compared 
with the terrors of the Old Man or the demon Amaimon ; and yet all the 
thinking and talking portion of the book is as shrewd and sharp as the 
gladiatorial dialogues of Shakspeare’s comedies."— Spectator. 

“ A romance, called the ‘ Five JVights of St. Albans' has just appeared, 
which combines an e.xtraordinary power of description w'ith an enchain- 
ing interest. It is Just such a romance as we should hnngiue Martin, the 
painter would writ"; and, to sav tue truth, the description of supernatu- 
ral efibets in the book, fall very little short in their operation upon difler- 
ent senses of the magical illusions of the talented artist.” — John Bull. 

n 


NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE CONTRAST 

A NOVEL. 

By Eabl Mulgravej Author of “ Matilda,” “ Yes abd No,” etc. 

“ ‘ Yes and No’ contained the best tableaux of actual — human — English 
society in the nineteenth century, of any novel we know of. The same 
characteristics that distinguished the most agreeable novel are equally 
remarkable in its successors.” — Bulwer's J^ew Monthly Magazine, 

‘Contrast’ cannot fail to prove interesting.” — Court Journal, 

“These volumes possess the rather uncommon merit of a very inter- 
esting story. The design is to paint a man whose strong feelings are 
curbed by an over-fastidiousness— what the French so happily term un- 
homme difficile.” — London Literary Gazette, 

“Messrs. Carey and Hart have republished, in two neat volumes, Earl 
Mulgrave’s novel of the ‘ Contrast,’ w> ich has been so favourably received 
in England. It is said to be one of best novels of the kind, that has 
issued from the press for years.” — / niladelphia Inquirer. 

“ ‘ Pelham,’ and ‘ Yes and No,’ are perhaps ih^ only paintings of the pre« 
sent time which are drawn witt the accuracy of knowledge, and the viva- 
city of talent. Were we to be asked by a foreigner to recommend those 
novels which, founded on truth, gave the most just delineation of the higher 
classes in England, it is to the above mentioned works we should refer 
The present volumes^ however^ are an infinite improvement on their prcdeces 
9or,*^ — London Literary Gazette. 


In One Volume, 8vo. 

MEMOIRS OF MARSHAL NET, 

COMPILED FROM PAPERS IN THE POSSESSION OF HIS FAMILY. 

The work has been put together under the direction and management 
of the Duke of Elchingen, Marshal Ney’s second son, who has affixed his 
signature to every sheet sent to press. 

“ They may be regarded as the Ney Papers, connected together by an 
interesting biography; the anecdotes with which they are interspersed 
have plainly been collected with great pains from all the early friends of 
that illustrious warrior.” — Blackwood's Magazine. 

“ The memoirs before us are founded upon the papers and documents 
which he left behind him at his death, consisting of anecdotic and bio- 
graphical fragments, accounts of his divers missions and campaigns, and 
the substance of many extraordinary secrets intrusted to him as a gene- 
ral and a statesman. All these materials throw great light upon the history 
of the French empire, as the details given in the memoirs possess the 
strongest interest.” — Pennsylvania Inquirer. 

In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE BLACK WATCH. 

BY T. PICKEN. 

By the Author of the “ Dominie’s Legacy.” 

“One of the most owerful and iDathetic tictions which have recently 
appeared.” — Times. 

12 


E. L. CAREY AND A. HART. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

ALLEN BRECK. 

BY GLEle. 

Author of the “ Subaltern,” 

“ The most striking production of Mr. Gleig.” — V. S. Journal. 

“One of the most powerful and highly wrought tales we ever read.''<^ 
Edinburg Review. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

ROMANCE OF ANCIENT HISTORY 

EGYPT. 

**One of the best productions of the present day.” — JVew Monthly Mag* 


In One Volume, 12mo. 

LIFE OF A SUB-EDITOR. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE OXONIAN; 

OR, SKETCHES OF SOCIETY AT OXFORD. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

N I G H T S-A T-M ESS. 


In T ■'^''himes, 12mo. 

LIFE OF A SOLDIER. 

BY A FIELD-OFFICER. 

“ A narrative of twenty-seven years’ service in various parts of the 
world, possessing all the interest of the wildest fiction.”— San. 


In One Volume, 12mo. 

BIOGRAPHY OF EXTRAORDINARY PAINTERS. 

By the Author of “ Vathek.” 


THE HIGHLAND SMUGGLERS. 

BY J. B. FRAZER. 

Author of the “ Kuzzilbash.” 


13 


NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY 


SKETCHES ON IRISH HIGHWAYS. 

BY MRS. S. C. HALL, 

Author of “ Sketches of Irish Chakacteb.” 


in Two Volumes, 12mo. 

’ THE PURITAN’S GRAVE. 

By the Author of the “ Usurer’s Daughter.” 

tf we were to point out one romance of the day which more than an- 
other would become a Christian pastor to write, it is this last production 
of Mr. Scargill’s. It is written in a subdued and gentle spirit of faith and 
charity. It is pregnant with unaffected pietyL passion there is not in it ; 
but there is the presence of a quiet and deep love; that blessed spirit 
walks, breathes, and has its being throughout the whole book.... The 
reader must be prepared for the absence of exciting events ; his mood must 
be in harmony with the work: he must read slowly, pencil in hand, to 
mark the holy and eloquent passages that occur. He must consider him- 
self reading a tale which, without the pedantry of a preacher, is suffused 
with the spirit of some beautiful homily. He will feel, as he proceeds, no 
very exciting interest ; no hurried emotion; but when he has closed the 
last page, he will ffnd hie soul insensibly soothed, and, as it were, CAm- 
tianized over .” — The Author of Pelham. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

THE BABOO; 

AND OTHER TALES DESCRIPTIVE OF SOCIETY IN INDIA. 

*‘The Baboo is not only an interesting novel, but a clear and clever 
sketch of society in Calcutta. The writer has been trained in a good 
school ; there is an impress of truth throughout, which shows that the au- 
thor was drawing from nature, not from fancy.” — Spectator. 

‘^We conscientiously and heartily recommend this very superior work 
to the notice of the public. It is a delightful Indian companion to the Don 
duixote of Spain, the Gil Bias of France, and the Hajji Baba of Persia; 
and quite equal to them all.” 

”This work is second to none in graphic powers. The Baboo himself is 
a perfect study. It is founded on facts, and true to nature ; and altogether 
a work of no common order .” — Metropolitan 


IN PREPARATION, 

THE G I F T; 

A CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR’S PRESENT, 

FOR 1836 . 

Edited by Miss Leslie, author of “ Pencil Sketches,” &c. 

The publishers have the promise of articles from many of the most popu- 
lar authors of the day. The ILLUSTRATIONS are in the haTtds of some 
of the most eminent engravers, and no expense will be spared to render th« 
work in every respect equal to the foreign productions of the same class, 

14 


E. L, CAREY AND A. HART. 


In Two Volumes, 12mo. 

M A K A N N A; 

OR, THE LAND OF THE SAVAGE. 

One of the most interesting and graphic romances it has been our lot 
to read for many a year,” — Athenmum. ^ 

“There was yet an untrodden land for the writer of fiction, and the 
author of ‘ Makanna’ is its discoverer.” — Atlas, 

“The narrative includes some daring adventures which would make 
timid blood shudder at their magnitude. . . .This work abounds in interest, 
and is written in a style of great vigour and elegance .” — Weekly Times, ' 
“The work does not want to be invested with any fictitious interest; 
and the talent which is visible in its pages is its best recommendation to 
public favour ,” — Morning Post. 

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The Art of Horsemanship. — This is the title of a neat little work* 
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The Philadelphia public are under obligations to Mr. Desmond for this 
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NATURE DISPLAYED 

IN HER MODE OF TEACHING LANGUAGE TO MAN; 

Beinff a new and infallible method of acquiring languages with un- 
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and consequently suited to every capacity ; adapted to the French, 

BY N. G. DUriEP. 

To which is prefixed a development of the author’s plan of tuition : 
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EIGHTH EDITION, ENLARGED AND IMPROVED. 


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In One", Volume, 8ya 
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Containing above fifty thousand terms and names not to be found in 
the Dictionaries of Boyer, Perry, Nupnt, &c. &c. ; to which is added 
a vast fund of other information equally beneficial and instructive 

BY N. G. DUFIEF. 

A new Edititm, revised and corrected by the Author. 

» 19 


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In One Volume, 8vo. 

MATHEMATICS FOR PRACTICAL MEN ; 

BEING 

A COMMON-PLACE BOOK 

OF PRINCIPLES, THEOREMS, RULES ANI? TABLES, IN VARIOUS DEPARTMENTS OP 

PURE AND MIXED MATHEMATICS, 

h 

Wilh their applications; especially to the pursuits of surveyors, arrfli- 
tects, mechanics, and civil engineers. With numerous engravings. 

BY OLINTHUS GREGORY, LL.D., F.R.A.S. 

SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED AND IMPROVED. 

Only let men awake, and fix their eyes, one while on the nature of 
things, another while on the application of them to the use and service 
of mankind,” — Lord Bacon 

Extract of a Letter from Walter R. Johnson, Professor of Mechanics and 
Matural Philosophy in the Franklin Institute. 

This treatise is intended and admirably calculated to supply the defi- 
ciency in the means of mathematical instruction to those who have nei- 
ther time nor inclination to peruse numerous abstract treatises in the same 
departments. It has, besides the claims of a good elementary manual, the 
merit of embracing several of the most interesting and important depart- 
ments of Mechanics, applying to these the rules and principles embraced 
in the earlier sections of the work. 

“ Questions in Statics, Dynamics, Hydrostatics, Hydro-dynamics, &c. 
are treated with a clearness and precision which must increase the powers 
of the student over his own intellectual resources by the methodical habits 
which a perusal of such works cannot fail to impart. 

“With respect to Engineering and the various incidents of that im- 
portant profession, much valuable matter is contained in this volume; and 
the results of many laborious series of experiments are presented with con- 
ciseness and accuracy.” 

Letter from Albert B. Dod, Professor of Mathematics in the College of 

Mew Jersey. 

“ Messrs. Carey & Hart, 

“Gentlemen— I am glad to learn that you have published an American 
edition of Dr. Gregory’s “ Mathematics for Practical Men.” I have for 
some time been acquainted wilh this work, and I esteem it highly. It 
contains the best dij:est, within my knowledge, of such scientific facts and 
principles, involved in the subjects of which it treats, as are susceptible of 
direct practical application. While it avoids such details of investigation 
and processes of mathematical reasoning as would render it unintelligible 
to the general reader, it equally avoids the sacrifice of precision in its 
statement of scientific results, which is too often made in popular trea- 
tises upon the Mathematics and Natural Philosophy. The author has suc- 
ceeded to a remarkable degree in collecting such truths as will be found 
generally useful, and in presenting them in an available form to the prac- 
tical mechanic. To such, the work cannot be too strongly recommended ; 
and to the student, too, it will often he found highly useful as a book of 
reference. 

“ With much respect, 

” Your obedient servant, 

“ ALBERT B. DOD, 

Professor of Mathematics in the College of Mew Jersey. 

••Princeton, Nov. 11, 1834.” 

20 


E. L. CAREY AND A. HART. 


Hxtract of a Letter from Edward H. Courtenay^ Professor of Mathematies 
in the University of Pennsylvania. 

“The design of the author — that of furnishing a valuable collection of 
rules and theorems for the use of such as are unable, from the want of 
time and previous preparation, to investigate mathematical principles — 
appears to have been very successfully attained in the present volume. 
The information which it atfords in various branches of the pure and 
mixed Mathematics embraces a great variety of subjects, is arranged con- 
veniently, and is in general conveyed in accurate and concise terms. To 
THE ENGINEER, THE ARCHITECT, THE*MECHANIC— indeed to all 
for whom results are chiefly necessary — the work will doubtless form a 
very valuable acquisition.” 


In One Volume, 12mo. 

BOLMAR'S LEVIZAC. 

A THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL GRAMMAR 

OF THE 

FRENCH LANGUAGE; 

IN WHICH THE PRESENT USAGE IS DISPLAYED AGREEABLY TO THE 
DECISIONS OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY. 

‘ BY M. DE LEVIZAC. 

With numerous corrections and improvements, and with th« addition 
of a complete treatise on the Genders of French fTouns; as also with the 
addition of all the French Verbs, both regular and irregular, conjugated 
affirmatively, negatively, and interrogatively. 

BY A. BOLMAR, 

Author of “Key to TELEMAatrE,” “ Phrases,” &c. &c. 


In One Volume, 8vo. 

TEALE OJY J^EURALGIC DISEASES. 

^ A TREATISE 

ON NEURALGIC DISEASES, 

DEPENDENT UPON IRRITATION OF THE SPINAL MARROW AND GANGLIA Of 

THE SYMPATHETIC NERVE. 

BY THOMAS PRIDGIN TEALE, 

'Member of the Royal College of Surgeons in London, of the Rt^al Medical 
Society of Edinburg, Senior Surgeon to the Leeds Public Dispensary. 

“It is a source of genuine gratification to meet with a work of this 
character, when it is so often our lot to be obliged to labour bard to win- 
now a few grains of information from the great mass of dullness, igno- 
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recommend it to the attention of the profession.”— .^wericon Journal cf 
the Medical Sciences, JVb. X _ 


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SELECT 

MEDICO-CHIRURGICAL TRANSACTIONS. 

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land ; the Royal Academy of Medicine of Paris ; the Royal Societies of 
London and Edinburgh ; the Royal Academy of Turin ; the Medical 
and Anatomical Societies of Paris, &c. &c. &c. 

Edited by Isaac Hats, M. D. 


In One Volume, 8vo. 

A PRACTICAL 

COMPENDIUM OF MIDWIFERY: 

Being the course of Lectures on Midwifery, and on the Diseases of 
Women and Infants, delivered at St. Bartholemew’s Hospital. 

By the late Robert Gooch, M. D. 

** As it abounds, however, in valuable and original suggestions, it will 
be found a useful book of reference.” — Drake's Western Journal. 


In One Volume, 8vo. 

AN ACCOUNT OP 

SOME OF THE MOST IMPORTANT 

DISEASES PECULIAR TO WOMEN ; 

BY ROBERT GOOCH, M. D. 

In this volume Dr. Gooch has made a valuable contribution to practi- 
cal medicine. It is the result of the observation and experience of a strong, 
sagacious, and disciplined mind.” —Transylvania Journal of Medicine. 

” This work, which is now for the first time presented to the profession 
in the United States, comes to them with high claims to their notice.” — 
Drake's Western Journal. 


In One Voliune, 8vo. 

T^TE OJ\r HYSTERIA, 

A TREATISE ON “HYSTERIA.” 

BY GEORGS TATE, M. D. 

‘‘ As public journalists, we take this occasion to return him our hearty 
thanks for the pains he has taken to shed a new light on an obscure and 
much-neglected topic.” — JCorth Jjmer. Med. andSurg. Joum. Mo. XIX, 

22 


E. L. CAREy AND A. HART. 


In One Volume, 8vo. 

s^issr oj\r the ear, 

DISEASES OF THE INTERNAL EAR . 

BY J. A. SAISSY, 

Member of the Royal Academy of Sciences, Literature, and ,drt3 in LyonSt 
Fellow of the Medical Society qf the same city, and of the Medical 
Societies of Bordeaux, Marseilles, SfC. 

Honoured with a premium by the Medical Society of Bordeaux, and since enlarfed 
by the Author. 

Translated from the French by Nathan R. Smith, Professor of Surgery in 
the University of Maryland ; with a Supplement on Diseases 
of the External Ear, by the Translator. 


In One Volume, 18mo. 

THE SURGEOJSr-EEJVTISTS MAJSTUAL. 

THE SURGEON-DENTIST’S ANATOMICAL AND 

PHYSIOLOGICAL MANUAL. 

BY G. WAIT. 

Member of the Royal College of Surgeons in London, ^c. ^e. 

“ The work cannot fail, we think, to answer well the purpose for which 
it was designed, of a manual for the practical dentist ; and in the notes 
will be found many useful hints respecting the diseases of these structures.” 
— Boston Med, and Surg. Joum. 1830. 


In One Volume, 8vo. 

OBSERVATIONS ON THE SURGICAL ANATOMY 

OF THE 

HEAD AND NECK; 

ILLUSTRATED BY CASES AND ENGRAVINGS. 

BY ALLAN BURNS. 

WITH ADDITIONAL CASES AND OBSEHYATIONS, 

BY GRANVILLE SHARP PATTISON. 


In One Volume, 8vo. 

A TREATISE ON THE 
NATURE AND CURE OF THOSE DISEASES, 

EITHER ACUTE OR CHRONIC, 

WHICH PRECEDE CHANGE OF STRUCTURE ; 

WITH A VIEW TO THE PRESERVATION OF HEALTH, AND PARTICULARLY 
THE PREVENTION OF ORGANIC DISEASES 

BY A. P. W. PHILIP, M. D. 

WITH NOTES BT T. H. MILLER, M. D. 


23 


PUBLISHED BY CAREY AND HART. 


In One Volume, 12mo. 


FORMULARY FOR THE 

PREPARATION AND EMPLOYMENT 


OF 

SEVERAL NEW REMEDIES. 

TttANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 
M. MAGENDIE. 


With an Appendix containing the experience of the British Practitionen, 
with many of the new remedies, 

BY JOSEPH HOULTON, M. D. 


In One Volume, 8vo. 

A TREATISE ON 

LESSER SURGERY; 

OR THE 

MINOR SURGICAL OPERATIONS. 

BY BOURGERY, D. M. P. 

Author of “ A Complete Treatise on Human Anatomy, comprising Opera* 
live Medicine.” Translated from the French, with notes 
and an Appendix ; by 

WILLIAM C. ROBERTS AND JAS. B. KISSAM. 

/ 

Copy of a letter from William Gibson, M. D. Professor of Sur- 
gery in the University of Pennsylvania. 

Philadelphia, J\rov. 5th, 1833- 

It gives me pleasure to say that the elementary work on Surgery, by 
M. Bourgery, and now under translation by Drs. Roberts and Kissam of 
New York, appears to me well calculated for the use of students. So far as 
I can judge from examination of a small portion of the English text, jus- 
tice has been done by the translators to the author of the work. 

W. GIBSON, M. D, 

Professor of Surgery in the University of Pennsylvania, 


Copy of a letter from George M’Clellan, M. D. Professor of 
Surgery in the Jefferson Medical College. 

Philadelphia, JVbB. 6th, 1833. 

Dear Sirs, 

I have epmined Bourgery’s manual, or work on Lesser Surgery, and 
am of opinion that it is an excellent compend. which contains a great deal 
of matter that will be useful to students. The translation which you are 
about to make, will deserve a large edition, and I have no doubt will meet 
with a ready sale. 


Drs. Roberts and Kissam. 
24 


Yours truly, 

GEO. M’CLELLAN. 



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